Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Klavier Gavin first encountered the incredible spitfire attorney that was Apollo Justice, it wasn’t just outside the People Park, or even in an article regarding the Turnabout Terror’s recent exoneration. It was upon the news that his brother’s, the Coolest Defense in the West’s, office was defending the man whose career he’d ended seven years prior.

Naturally, Klavier had set down his guitar when that particular message came through. It wasn’t from Kristoph himself, of course; he rarely contacted Klavier of his own accord, and even less often told him about his work. The intel came from Daryan, who was intimately familiar with the whole episode that caused him to lock his badge away. The entire scenario made his spine jitter–the man who’d lost the respect of the legal community being defended by the brother of the man who’d caused his fall.

What’s more, for some reason Phoenix Wright requested that Kristoph’s freshly-minted legal aid be the one to take the reins. Klavier had squinted at the picture of the young man in a shockingly red vest for a long time, trying to figure out why his round, doe-like eyes felt so piercing even through the photographic barrier. Why the disgraced attorney felt this greenhorn (quite literally, thought Klavier snarkily, eyeing the lawyer’s distinctive hairstyle) was the one he wanted to defend him from murder charges, the rockstar prosecutor couldn’t say.

It all became clear when he was informed of his brother’s arrest, and who exactly was responsible.

This was the sign he was looking for. It was time to return to the courts. Klavier gathered up his tacky keys and went straight home to the safe where his badge had lain abandoned for seven long years. That shitstorm of a trial was Herr Wright’s doing back then, and was most certainly his doing now.

Nothing had prepared him for what it was really like, though, being the sole beneficiary of that powerful gaze. Admittedly, Klavier had panicked that day outside the park. He’d said something stupidly revealing to the attorney, intimidated into a state of unease he’d only felt in the presence of his overbearing brother and the very Turnabout Terror he’d once gotten disbarred. And for some reason, he ended up helping the guy, who was accompanied by who he later learned was Phoenix Wright’s very own daughter. The short walk to the crime scene was occupied by one prosecutor-slash-rock god mesmerized at the scrunched-up thinking face of a defense attorney he’d never technically met. And after that, well, Klavier took every opportunity to see those sharp, thoughtful eyes.

Klavier had never felt this way in the presence of someone else. His varnish felt stripped bare, laid out to read like a confessional of his heart. Apollo Justice couldn’t be fooled. He saw right through his clumsy rockstar façade. Apollo Justice would shine his sun’s radiance on the truth, over and over again until nothing remained shadowed by lies or conspiracy or seven-year-long schemes. Kristoph was the beginning, but most certainly not the end. He was only a catalyst for that brilliant, all-reaching light. It was as if Apollo was the sun god himself, come to tear his life asunder with each and every encounter. Each time it seemed he was leaping at shadows, the darkness that curled around the edges of Klavier’s life was dispelled. An overconfident young man whose heart was slowly killing him, the betrayal of his best friend, and the revelation that Klavier’s brother had used him as a pawn in his petty grudge match for so long–it was all too much. But then, Klavier had always been a good actor, at least until October 9.

The moment court was dismissed on the day of Vera Misham’s trial, Klavier bolted from the courtroom into the nearest place with a lockable door. This happened to be a single-use, gender-neutral bathroom, where he braced his hands on either side of the sink and squeezed his eyes shut, taking deep breaths as waves of nausea rolled over him. He’d say it was a nightmare if he couldn’t feel his rings digging painfully into his white-knuckled hands.

Deep breaths. Calm down. Like you’re going on stage. For some reason, that made him think of Apollo, when he had invited him to the Gavinners’ final concert. He’d worn the same ashen look after seeing LeTouse’s final moments as he had just moments ago in court. Klavier took another breath and looked up, flinching epically as he locked eyes with himself in the mirror. He was disheveled, but more than that… he looked like him.

Klavier saw those wild eyes, the lost composure that his brother exhibited as he broke down at the stand. His eyes were the exact same shade. You’re not needed anymore.
He pulled away from the sink and darted over to the toilet, where he heaved his guts out. It was much less fun while sober.

After a few minutes of retching dryly over the bowl, Klavier pulled back, feeling the cold sweat beading on his brow as he wiped his mouth. Even though Kristoph had been convicted, even though he knew Apollo wouldn’t settle for anything but the truth… for some reason, he couldn’t have conceded to himself that his brother was a murderer. His eyes closed, and he felt himself wracked with sobs for a long time, his tearless throes going completely unnoticed. Finally, he calmed down enough to collect himself and take gulping breaths. With shaky limbs, he supported himself against the wall and stood, feeling disgusting.

A hesitant knock at the door caused him to jolt dramatically. Right. He was in a public bathroom, having some embarrassing breakdown, right after a rather high-profile case had been resolved in a way that the tabloids would surely get a kick out of. The reporters wouldn’t be so gentle about getting him out of there, though.

Rushing to the sink, he turned on the cold water and gently dabbed at his damp face–-he couldn’t very well splash himself, it wouldn’t do to have his mascara run-–with a wet paper towel. Looking into his reflection once more, he still looked a little like hell, and most certainly felt worse, but he no longer saw Kristoph in his steely eyes. That was good enough.

Touching up his hair a bit, he arranged his face to look somewhat neutral and opened the door, which creaked loudly. Apollo Justice was there, standing awkwardly with crossed arms and staring at something to the side before his gaze snapped to Klavier’s. He looked like he wanted to say something to him. It was all he could do not to suck in a breath.
Klavier gave him a wry, shaky smile and made his way back to the prosecutor’s office without saying a word.

Two days later, Klavier was staring at the ceiling in his office, having just had a legendary episode of seeing his reflection and screaming into a pillow for about a half an hour. He felt like he’d cried, but he knew that he hadn’t shed a single tear. Thank God he’d soundproofed his office after the tenth complaint about his electric guitar-playing.

There was a tentative knock at the door, and his eyes snapped to the door handle. It was locked, of course, but he just needed to be sure so he could get his act together before greeting whoever it was.
“...Prosecutor Gavin?” came the voice of the last person on Earth he wanted to see today.

Klavier gave an epic show of flinching and then scrambled to do his hair over his shoulder again (it had come loose in the Battle of the Mirror and Pillow), swearing loudly. Pressing the small intercom button, he said, “J-ja, I’ll just be a minute. Hold on.” He finally realized why Herr Edgeworth had insisted on him taking time off from work, seeing the dark bags under his eyes and the harrowed look he wore now. There wasn’t much to do about that, though, aside from downing the remaining half of a bottle of water, so he steeled himself and arranged his best stage smile as he finally unlocked and opened the door.

Apollo Justice stood in his usual court attire, though his hair looked especially rumpled today, as though he’d been running his hands through it nervously. The horns still managed to look immaculate, though. Their eyes met, and Klavier felt like Apollo was reading the lines of his soul, his gaze was so intense.

The defense attorney’s eyebrows knit together in what looked like… concern? Worry? Maybe just annoyance. His mouth opened and closed a couple times like he didn’t know what to say, and then he settled on, “Are you alright, Prosecutor Gavin?” and his voice was far too loud like it always was, but really, Klavier didn’t care. Normally it might have even been endearing. He just needed to get away from those piercing, all-knowing eyes of his, because he could already feel himself unraveling.

“You don’t need to worry about me, Herr Forehead. You always say it best, ja? ‘I’m fine!’” The prosecutor’s smile probably looked as insincere as it felt.

Apollo frowned deeper and his left hand flexed. “You’re lying,” he said simply.

Klavier couldn’t argue with that. Instead, he replied evasively, “Entschuldigung, Forehead, I was just going to go home, actually. I have… paperwork to do.” That wasn’t a lie, at least, even though crying in his driveway was more like what he intended on doing after he left. He flipped his hair with one hand and tried to move past his courtroom rival. Apollo wouldn’t budge, even though he had to know Klavier was capable of throwing someone of his stature if he so chose.

The concerned-worried-annoyed look on his face grew sharper as he pointed at Klavier’s hand. “You’re bleeding. Is that from, uh, a guitar string, or something?” he asked. He was giving Klavier an out, watching to see if he’d take it. Maybe it was even a trap to see whether he’d lie about it. Truthfully, he hadn’t even known he was bleeding, though he vaguely recalled slamming his fist into the wall like he tended to do in court. This time, he supposed, it may have been a little harder. He pulled his dark sleeve over the shallow cut, which might have come from one of his rings.

“...Nein,” Klavier said after a moment of consideration. It wasn’t worth it to try to lie to Apollo, and he found that he didn’t want to anyway. “I… my hand hit the wall, and I think I got cut on one of my rings,” he said, mostly truthfully. The cut was small, and it looked like it’d already stopped bleeding. The other man looked like he desperately wanted to comment on that, but he didn’t. Instead, he just tagged along when Klavier started to move.

They walked through the hall together, stopping only briefly to inform Herr Edgeworth of his departure (“Thank God,” his boss said tiredly, “Please go home, Gavin.”), and Apollo didn’t ask any more questions. Silence prevailed, and suddenly Klavier wanted to hear his voice again. He hadn’t actually had a conversation with someone in some two days. A little desperately, he blurted, “So, why did you come here, Forehead? Just wanted to see my pretty face again?”

Apollo made that wonderful scrunched-up face again. “No. I just thought you might be… hurting, I guess,” he said seriously. “I wanted to see if you were okay after… all that.”

“Ah.” The prosecutor paused a moment, trying to reconcile the concerned and friendly actions with the aloof, formal Apollo he knew. “Thank you, really. I appreciate it. I think I’ll live, though.” Well, that came out badly. Klavier held back a sigh. With a wink, he continued, “But this isn’t a good place to sit and chat, you know. How about dinner instead?”

This was something he’d tried many times at this juncture. It was just teasing, based on the reaction it got out of Apollo at every previous encounter: a flustered and polite declination. Therefore, Klavier reeled when the other man replied this time.

“Alright,” Apollo said firmly, like his mind had already been made up before the question was asked.

Stunned, Klavier fumbled a bit with his response. “R-rea–oh! Uh, okay. Ja, so, that’s…” His brain felt like it was short-circuiting, because by all means, that response did not compute. “Ah. W-what time, then? Does, er, 7 work for you…?”

He’d never botched dinner arrangements like that in his life. And he’d asked a lot of people out before. Not to mention he had daydreamed about asking out Apollo successfully many times, and in all the hypothetical scenarios he’d cooked up where he said yes, this had never occurred. Definitely not while Klavier looked like he’d just been dragged through hot coals in hell.

“I was actually thinking we could go now,” Apollo said nonchalantly, as if this didn’t destroy the prosecutor instantly.
Instead of blubbering like an idiot this time, a reply sprung to his lips rather easily. “It’s a little too early for dinner, Forehead,” he pointed out, glancing at the clock that read 3:23 behind him. He couldn’t do this right now. Why did this have to happen right now? He looked and felt like shit. He couldn’t look like this in front of Herr Forehead, of all people.

“A late lunch, then.” He seemed utterly determined, a steely glint in his eyes like the one he sometimes got in court. Gott im Himmel, Klavier’s resolve crumpled like a wet paper bag. Apollo was clearly driving at something else, but Klavier couldn’t say no if he wanted to.

Klavier sighed, digging his keys out and spinning them around his finger before stopping, because he remembered what had happened last time Apollo saw his keys (although those particular ones were still technically evidence on file. It was a horrible experience to get every lock changed). He tried to brighten up his expression, flashing his show-winning smile again. “Well, if you really want to go on a date with me that badly, how could I say no?” He wouldn’t waste the opportunity, to be sure.

Apollo crossed his arms, gripping tightly at his rolled-up sleeves. “It’s not… whatever. Put your keys away, though. We don’t have to drive; the place is just a couple blocks away, and it’s nice out.” He looked a little nervous, probably at the idea that they would drive over on his motorcycle. It was pretty cute that he was so scared of his prized vehicle. Klavier decided he’d get him to ride it one of these days.

Klavier bit his lip, realizing he might actually perish if someone were to recognize him looking like this. It was a mortifying enough ordeal that Herr Forehead decided he couldn’t be left alone to readjust his look. He was utterly, disgustingly disheveled at the moment, and he wasn’t about to let anyone perceive him without a fight.

“Ah, but we need to retrieve my clever disguise,” Klavier decided on at last, beckoning to the confused attorney as he expertly dodged the front exit, made his way out the side, and finally to the lot where his car, sleek and plum-purple, was parked.

Apollo looked dumbfounded at this, for whatever reason. “You have a car?” he said incredulously, his voice already raised far past the normal threshold for polite conversation. Klavier didn’t take it personally.

“Ja, of course,” Klavier fired off easily. “My hog gave up the ghost a few months ago, remember? How did you think I got around?” He smiled brightly at his friend–or, no, rival was more like it. Klavier didn’t really have friends like Apollo Justice, or, frankly, deserve them.

Unlocking the passenger side and digging through the glove compartment, he retrieved a ball cap and a second elastic, expertly doing up his hair in a bun and slipping the hat on. “Ta-da! Almost like Fräulein Wright’s magic tricks, ja?”

Appraisingly, Apollo flicked his eyes over Klavier’s stupidly smiling face. “No, but I guess if you lose the jacket and that necklace you probably won’t get recognized so easily,” he told him honestly.

“Ouch,” Klavier said, shrugging off his blazer and draping it over the passenger seat, then removing his prized Gavinners pendant and sticking it deep in his pocket. His dark shirt sleeve still felt a little sticky from the blood, so he unbuttoned the cuffs and rolled them up to his elbows. “Better?”

“Hm. I guess. You probably won’t attract too much attention if people aren’t looking,” Apollo grunted, incidentally not looking. “Maybe you should stop throwing random German into your sentences, too…?” he tried hopefully.

“Nie. Not a chance,” answered Klavier soundly, shutting and locking the door. “Lead the way, Herr Forehead. You found the place.”

Apollo led them westward on Roscoe, and Klavier occupied himself by trying to clean up his hand. He was really starting to feel it now, the sting of the cut paling in comparison to the sting of his injured pride. He’d damn Apollo and his perceptiveness if it wasn’t so comically stupid of him to not notice having hurt himself in the first place.

The entire walk, Klavier found himself lost in thought. His eyes darted to his companion what felt like way too often, flicking from his bobbing hair to his keen eyes to the bangle that always remained on his wrist. It occurred to him that Apollo had, over the course of the past half-year, essentially unraveled his entire life, and yet the defense attorney was still largely a mystery to him. It felt like an unequal exchange, but… he wanted Apollo to give that information to him willingly. Despite the act he put on, he would never overbear a close friend, or at the very least, someone who he dearly hoped would become one.

Apollo flushed. “Why do you keep looking at me?” he demanded, glancing Klavier’s way.

The prosecutor shrugged. “I realized I don’t really know anything about you, except for the obvious. It makes me wonder what your motivations are,” he told him. “You know all about me at this point, but… well, I’ll try not to force the issue or make you uncomfortable.”

The other man widened his eyes, seemingly surprised, though Klavier secretly hoped it wasn't about his respect for boundaries.

“Was?” said Klavier.

“I just didn’t actually expect you to answer that honestly,” Apollo replied. “You’d normally just cover it up with some kind of stupid flirt, like, ‘Oh, but you’re just so attractive, Herr Forehead’ or something.” He put on a very bad lilting accent, and Klavier was a little offended.

“Was that supposed to be me?”

“Who else calls me ‘Herr Forehead’?”

“Fair genug.”

“Quit it with the faux German.”

“I am German. I imagine that’s the horrible accent you just tried to imitate.”

Apollo looked like he’d been slapped. “You’re… actually German?!” he shouted incredulously, drawing stares. Klavier pulled his hat lower, putting a finger to his mouth in a shhh gesture.

“Ja! Did… did you actually think it was an act?” said Klavier, a little hurt.

“Well, it’s just… Kr–um, your brother… didn’t have an accent or anything,” Apollo murmured, clearly embarrassed. “I, uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to bring him up.”

Klavier winced again. He’d been doing that a lot lately. “Nein, it’s…it’s okay. To answer that, though… We were both born here. You know that I’m nine years his junior?” Apollo nodded. “He was ten and I was just under a year old when we moved to Germany. I spent most of my childhood there, and then, when I was eleven, I moved back here… with him. He’d been here already for some time, even established himself in the legal community as an up-and-coming defense attorney at that point.”

“I guess that does explain things.” The other man looked contemplative, like his entire worldview had just been shattered and he needed to reevaluate a fundamental truth of the universe.

“Well, now you know.” They walked in silence for a few moments. Then Klavier laughed, realizing. “You've gotten me to spill even more about myself. Impressive, Herr Forehead.”

“Eh…? Oh! It wasn’t intentional. Sorry if you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“I don’t mind,” Klavier said, and he didn’t. “How much farther is this place, anyway?”

“It’s actually right down there.” Klavier squinted where the defense attorney pointed. Maybe he needed to update his prescription. From what he could see, it was a hole-in-the-wall place that specialized in all the café favorites. As they approached, he could read the sign: Roy & Aster’s, it said. It looked like some kind of diner.

The second Apollo entered the door (the bell tinkled merrily), the man behind the counter cried, “AJ! Where ya been, buddy?”

“Just busy with work, Aster,” Apollo said with a smile, approaching the man easily. Klavier tagged along, a little awkwardly. “I promise I’ll stop by more often.”

Aster looked up and seemed surprised to see Klavier standing there. “Well, now! Guess you have other friends after all. Kinda expected to see Clay, ‘cept it’s a Monday.” Klavier didn’t really know how to respond to that, since he had never even heard of this ‘Clay’ person, but he gave the man a smile anyway.

“Hello, sir. Klavier Gavin,” he said politely, extending his hand. He kicked himself immediately after for giving his name out. So much for subtlety.

Aster grabbed his hand, giving it a hearty shake. “Aster Connerly, good to meet ya! Any friend of AJ’s is welcome anytime.” He turned and spoke almost conspiratorially to Apollo. “Hey now, I like this guy. His name kinda rings a bell, though. Do I know ‘im…?”

“Nope,” Apollo said loudly, causing the few customers in the place to look their way. Aster just gave a chuckle and led them to a small table near the window.

“Give those Chords of Steel a rest, kiddo. Heard you had a hell of a case the other day,” the older man said sincerely, causing Klavier to pause in his tracks, heart thudding. Apollo gave him a gentle nudge with his elbow and he snapped out of it with a shake of his head.

“Roy’ll be out to get you fixed up soon.”

“Thanks, Aster.”

Klavier absently sat, his eyes trained on a line of sugar packets stacked neatly in its container. This was a bad idea. Someone could recognize him, or worse, recognize his brother in him. Why did he give his real name to the owner? Stupid. That was a surefire way to get swarmed. Why did he even ask to go out? Why did Herr Forehead say yes? He felt a bead of sweat roll down the back of his neck. His ears rang. Apollo was saying something. What was he saying? Damn it. Damn it! He was doing fine before. He could have just said he wasn't actually alright to go out. He could have done anything to just stay in his office and bury himself in his work. Apollo was louder than the din in his head. What was that?

“...okay?”

Klavier blinked a few times. “Was?”

Apollo frowned. “Kl–Prosecutor Gavin. Are you okay?” He looked genuinely concerned now, his keen eyes searching Klavier’s face. He shrunk back a little, feeling exposed.

He once more decided to put his excellent acting skills to use. “Ja, ja. Of course. You, uh, what were you saying?” He flashed a grin for good measure, but Apollo only frowned deeper, his hand flying to his wrist where he wore his bracelet.

Before he could say anything, a different man–Roy, his nametag said–came to take their orders. Apollo generously ordered first, allowing Klavier a moment to scan the front page of the menu and pick something at random–a BLT, it turned out. He also ordered a coffee. He needed something in his system to jolt him out of this funk.

“You go to this place pretty often, Herr Forehead?” Klavier tried. He wanted to cram whatever all-consuming train of thought that was into some locked compartment in his brain, never to see the light of day again.

The other man wasn’t fazed. “You were lying,” Apollo said, quieter than he’d thought possible from him. Klavier had expected his volume knob could only be set to 'loud' and 'louder'. “I won’t make you tell me about it. Like you said, I already know so much about your life, and it wasn’t your decision to divulge it, either. Just don’t lie about being okay. It, um, it won't do anyone any good.” There was an air of finality to his words, and he sat back, taking a sip of water from the glass that had appeared there sometime in the last several minutes.

Something swelled in Klavier’s chest, and he had to look away. “You’re right. I won’t pretend not to have emotions. It’s just easier to act like it’s fine.” His coffee arrived, and he immediately took a scalding sip, tears springing to the corners of his eyes. “Autch.”

Apollo looked a bit surprised, but he granted him a small but genuine smile. “I know what you mean.”

Neither of them said anything else until their food arrived, but for once Klavier didn’t feel the compulsion to break the silence. It was… companionable, if not comfortable. It was like having a friend. He couldn’t remember ever having moments like these, even with Daryan.

Regardless, it was a welcome change of pace when they had something else to do than sip on their drinks. The sandwich turned out to be pretty good, actually, and he would have said so if Herr Forehead didn’t say at the very moment he took his first bite, “I’m an orphan.” Klavier spluttered in a very unattractive way until he got his bearings and then took a gulping breath, finally meeting the other’s eyes incredulously. All Apollo did was shrug, although a small smile did tug at the corners of his mouth. “You said you don’t know anything about me.”

“I suppose that’s true, but...” Klavier said breathlessly, taking another sip of hot coffee.

“You drink it black?” asked Apollo curiously, as if he hadn’t just dropped an expositional bombshell on someone he’d spoken to outside of court maybe ten times.

“Gott im Himmel, Forehead, you're going to kill me... I guess I can answer you, though.” And I know I said I wouldn’t push it, but you can’t just leave it at that! “Ja. Well, I do put some sugar in usually, but I didn’t this time. I drank a lot of coffee growing up.”

“Huh. I’m more of a tea person, though the tea selection in this country is kind of appalling. I can’t actually drink coffee without some kind of milk in it.”

“This country?”

Apollo startled, like he’d slipped up. “Oh. I guess I also came to America around the time you did, actually. I grew up in Khura’in. The tea there was always great.” Apollo looked a little sad, maybe a little regretful. Don't push it.

Belatedly, Klavier realized that this was probably Apollo’s way of trying to cheer him up. It was so clunky, perhaps even awkward, but he was telling him about himself. He was... equating the exchange, so to speak. “Another thing we have in common, then!” he beamed. “I only know English, German, and some Borginian… but I’ve always wanted to learn Khura’inese. Maybe we could try teaching each other some, ja?”

Apollo mumbled something that sounded like, “You could just ask to hang out if that's what you want,” with a roll of his eyes, but nodded anyway.

A dazzling smile made its way onto Klavier's face, and he felt, for once, that it was genuine. “Thank you, Apollo,” he said earnestly.

His companion’s face lit up almost as red as his suit. “F-for what?” he demanded, tugging at his shirt collar. “All I said was I’d try to teach you some Khura’inese…”

The toothy grin dropped into a closed smile. “For opening up to me. It means a lot. Really.”

“Oh.” The other man looked at his plate, shifting in his seat, then very suddenly reached into his pocket and shoved his phone toward Klavier. “Put your number in my phone,” he said quickly. “Don’t even say it. If you say it I’ll get up right now and leave you with the bill.”

“Why, Herr Forehead, I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Klavier replied innocently, tapping his number into the contacts page. “And I planned on paying anyway, you know.”

“Not a chance,” Apollo scoffed, pocketing his phone and crossing his arms. “I picked the place, so I pay.”

“Didn’t you just say you’d leave me with the bill?”

They squabbled a little over the bill until finally they agreed to split it between them, with Apollo insisting on leaving the tip. Figuring he might as well cut his losses, Klavier shrugged and conceded.

When they finally parted ways and Klavier drove home, he found that he no longer felt like crying in his driveway. He pulled his phone out of his pocket as Vongole jumped excitedly on him, paws resting on his stomach. “Aús, Vongole,” he chided the large dog gently, scratching behind her ears. Three message notifications greeted him.

5:13 PM Unknown Number: Hey Prosecutor Gavin this is Apollo Justice. Just checking in.
5:13 PM Unknown Number: Text me if you need to talk or something.
5:15 PM Unknown Number: If you want to.

Klavier couldn’t help but smile. He put in a contact name–’Herr Forehead’ followed by the emojis for the pointing finger, the sunflower, and finally the steaming cup of green tea–and responded.

5:22 PM Me: of course herr Forehead I would never waste the opportunity ;)
5:22 PM Me: thank you though, i appreciate it.
5:23 PM Me: do you like dogs?

He followed up with a picture of Vongole eagerly wagging her bushy tail without waiting for an answer and whistled as he twirled his keys and pocketed his phone.
While preparing the dog’s dinner, his phone chimed again. Apollo had sent back a picture of a pretty little cat with a navy bowtie around its collar and one nicked ear. His left hand was visible in the frame; the cat was attacking his shiny bracelet eagerly.

5:28 PM Herr Forehead: I’m more of a cat person, honestly.
5:28 PM Herr Forehead: This is Mikeko. He likes to scratch the couch.

Delighted by this development, Klavier finished his task and smiled, snapping another shot of Vongole (scarfing down her dinner with gusto) to introduce the two. Traitorously, he thought that maybe they could be friends after all.

Chapter Text

Klavier didn’t particularly enjoy speaking ill of his boss, but Herr Edgeworth could be one stubborn bastard when it came to the very specific kind of recovery he was going through at the moment.

“Herr Edgeworth, please, I can handle two cases at a time,” he said exasperatedly on October 15. “Neither case is a homicide. Herr Justice isn’t defending either. I don’t think he even takes on a case unless it’s a convoluted murder-mystery.”

His boss rubbed his temples with his left hand, his right occupied by a fountain pen. He looked up from his papers with a disbelieving expression, glasses slid halfway down his nose. “Yes, well, Mr. Justice is a student of Wright’s, after all,” he muttered. Klavier didn’t actually know how truthful that statement was. “Regardless, Gavin, I’m not entirely convinced you’ve given yourself time to process the events of the last week or so. I know intimately how… taxing instances such as these can be.” Herr Edgeworth’s gray eyes looked distant for a moment.

Klavier thought it wise not to broach the topic of his boss’s year-long sabbatical. He’d heard it was something of a touchy subject. “I wasn’t the one on trial, Chef. I can handle myself. A hit-and-run and a robbery-assault case are pretty cut-and-dry, ja?”

A long-suffering sigh escaped Herr Edgeworth’s mouth, and he pushed his glasses back up with his free hand. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’d inherited some stubbornness from Wright yourself. I’ll let you handle the cases, Gavin, but if I hear one peep that you’re over-extending yourself, I’m transferring them both to the Paynes.”

Klavier adjusted his posture, straightening his back with a dazzling smile. “Thank you, Herr Edgeworth. I’ll make you proud. Danke.”

Edgeworth just waved his hand toward the files tiredly. “Take them,” he said, and returned to his work.

In his own office, Klavier replaced one of his guitars on its rack and paged through each file. The victim of the hit-and-run had no established connection with the suspect, but all the times and locations added up, and there was verifiable eyewitness testimony. An easy win by all accounts. The robbery was from a place near Roscoe and De Soto…

Wait.

Klavier squinted at the page, wondering if he’d read it correctly. He had.

Without really thinking, Klavier pulled out his phone and opened his contacts, tapping the first number from his recents. It rang three times.

“Prosecutor Gavin?” The voice on the other end was rather confused, maybe a little wary. “You know it’s a weekday, right? And 11 in the morning?”

“Ja. Sorry, Herr Forehead, it’s important. That place you took me to a few days ago, over on Roscoe, have you been there since then?”

Apollo paused. “You mean Aster’s place? No, why?”

“I’m prosecuting a case tomorrow with the place’s name on it. It’s for robbery-assault charges. I haven’t checked the whole file just yet, but it looks like Herr Aster was hit over the head with a hard object, like a crow bar. The place was ransacked, which isn’t totally unusual, but…”

“What?!” Klavier winced and held his phone away from his ear as his friend’s Chords of Steel made their glorious return. “You’re sure? Is Aster okay?!”

“Ach, Apollo, lower your voice, bitte. Aren’t you at work?”

“Well, yes, technically. I don’t think Mr. Wright actually cares what happens here, though.” As if on cue, he heard faint protests from Apollo’s side. Hey! I care, I’m studying! Said a man’s voice, and then a much younger, higher voice, Polly, who are you talking to?

He silenced them with shushing noises, ironically enough. Klavier could picture him making shooing motions with his hands. “To answer your question, Herr Forehead, your friend is recovering. Hickfield Clinic, looks like. They’ve apprehended a suspect, too.” Klavier creased his eyebrows, thinking. “It’s a little strange, though. The register was untouched. The safe in the back room was opened and cleaned out, but that’s it. I’d think that if they had time for that…?”

Apollo jumped at the open end of that sentence. “Yeah, it seems like there was some other motive.”

“Ja. Although I can’t really be sure without solid proof. I think I’ll visit the crime scene myself.”

“That’s rare for you, Prosecutor Gavin,” Apollo said. He could almost hear the raised eyebrow in his voice.

Klavier snapped his fingers. “Achtung, Forehead. Don’t you know that I’ll stop at nothing to find the truth? Even when my favorite defense attorney oh-so-regrettably isn’t around.” He leaned back in his chair, which creaked a little, and put a hand to his chest theatrically; he knew Apollo couldn’t see him, but it was the principle of the thing.

“Well, I’m sure Ema will be just thrilled at this development,” his friend said wryly. “Does she even investigate scenes that aren’t tied to a murder, or do you just have to say the words ‘ferric oxide’ and she comes running?”

Klavier snorted. “Did you just make a joke, Herr Forehead? And about Fräulein Detective, no less?” he mused. “To whom am I speaking?”

“Oh, shut up. I can make jokes.” Even if he sounded annoyed, Klavier could still hear the smile in his voice.

“Why don’t you come with me to the crime scene, check it out?”

“My joke was better than that, at least.”

“It wasn’t a joke, Forehead. I’d like to have you there, really.”

Apollo faltered. “Uh, what? Are you sure you’re feeling well enough to take this case?”

“Hey, now, I meant it! I could make use of that impressive forehead of yours. You find things at crime scenes even the detectives miss. It’s made all the difference before.”

“I–no, I can’t. As rival attorneys, it’s one thing to text or make calls outside of work, but investigating a crime scene together? There’s no way that would fly.”

“But Foreheeeaad,” Klavier whined, spinning in his chair. “You’re not even on this case. Could you not be passed off as my investigative assistant this once?” He leaned forward, tapping his fingers rapidly on the arm of his chair. “Pleeease? You don’t have any other work to do, ja?”

“Hey! I’m very busy!”

Another voice, the higher of the two, chimed in from the background. “Doing what, Polly? Cleaning the toilet? Again?”

Klavier perked up. “Is that Fräulein Wright? Put her on!”

“Wha–? No, I’m not putting Trucy on th–hey!” There was the distinct sound of a scuffle, what sounded like the phone being dropped onto a carpeted surface, and then finally, Trucy’s voice.

“Hiya, Prosecutor Gavin!” she chirped, “Whatcha calling Polly for? I didn’t even know he had your number! I’m so jealous! Oh, are you the one he's been talking to on his lunch breaks the last week?!”

“Fräulein, Herr Forehead is being stubborn today,” Klavier lamented, “He wouldn’t come out to investigate where his favorite diner was robbed! And what’s more, there’s certainly a mystery afoot!”

Trucy gasped, and Klavier could picture her gloved hand covering a shocked expression. “No!”

“Ja! Can you believe it?”

“Polly! Is that true?!”

Faintly, Klavier could hear a groan. “I don’t even know what he said, but there is no way it's true.”

“I dunno, I know about all of Prosecutor Gavin’s tells, and he seemed honest to me,” Trucy replied firmly.

“You can’t even see him!”

Klavier decided not to think too hard about the “tells” comment. “I can tell you with the utmost certainty, Fräulein, that I was being truthful in my testimony.”

There was a thwap sound, like something was being hit. “Ow! What the–Trucy!”

The phone was dropped again, and there was a set of bickering voices he couldn’t make out before it was recovered. Klavier couldn’t hold in a chuckle.

Trucy’s singsong voice drifted back over the phone. “Prosecutor Gavin! We’re going to the crime scene! Meet us there!”

“Godspeed, Fräulein!”

“Trucy! What the h–”

The call ended there, and Klavier couldn’t suppress an amused smile. They really were just like siblings.

Siblings. Hm.

The last six days had been filled with thoughts about Kristoph. He had, admittedly, lost sleep over it. Normally, his favorite way to vent was to write short, tonally-appropriate songs with aggressive lyrics, but he couldn’t force himself to configure so much as a chord progression. Except for about four days ago, when he’d just gotten back from his little outing with Herr Forehead. It was… a weirdly upbeat little jingle he’d composed that day. The only one he'd been able to tweak or play with the right emotion.

Klavier hummed it to himself as he picked up his phone to stuff into his pocket. He approached his motorcycle before recalling that Apollo had walked to the place with him before, and decided to take the less-flashy mode of transport. His phone chimed with notifications, and he took a moment to search whether he was going the right way before checking them.

11:23 AM Herr Forehead: You’ve opened Pandora’s Box, Prosecutor Gavin.
11:24 AM Herr Forehead: You have no idea what you just did to yourself

11:23 AM Unknown Number: Hello prosecutor Gavin!!!! It’s Trucy Wright magical girl here!! I got ur number from polly’s phone i hope that’s ok but now we can talk about him in secret!!! :DDD

Klavier made a sound between a snort and a laugh and tapped out a response to each.

11:26 AM Me: i have no idea what you’re talking about, Forehead.

11:27 AM Me: fraulein! omw to the scene. keep herr forehead in check for me, ja? :)

He sent a picture of himself walking down the street making a thumbs-up gesture and flipped his sunglasses down over his eyes. His phone dinged and he found that Trucy had sent her own picture. She was front-and-center with an open-mouthed smile, arm looped around a very annoyed-looking Apollo. They seemed to be on a bus.

Klavier smiled and surreptitiously saved the image to his phone.

He got there before Trucy and Apollo. This was to be expected, since he worked so much closer to the scene and Apollo didn’t have a car, but he was still anxious to check it out. The outside looked fairly normal, yellow tape crisscrossing the area around the otherwise undamaged door. He tried sitting on a bench, but found that he couldn't contain his anxious energy and sprang back to his feet. Before he could pace for more than a few minutes, though, he was interrupted.

“Oh hell no. What are you doing here, Fop?” Ema Skye growled, stomping his way angrily. “The one time I thought I could get some peace. The one time!”

“Hello yourself, Fräulein,” Klavier said evenly. “I was particularly interested in this scene. In fact, it’s owned by one of Herr Forehead’s friends. I couldn’t just breeze through this case like some lowly murder trial.”

Ema stamped her foot. “Why’d I have to be assigned to the scene your boyfriend has a special interest in?” she grumbled, gripping her satchel’s strap threateningly.

“He isn’t my boyfriend,” Klavier replied. "I'm available, if that's your concern."

Admittedly, Klavier didn’t have any interest in hooking up with Ema, and clearly, she harbored no such feelings either. She just rolled her eyes and gagged exaggeratedly. “Don’t get in my way, Fop. I’m serious. And armed with a number of dangerous chemicals.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Fräulein.”

An excited squeal sounded from the other end of the road, and Klavier spotted a top hat-clad figure tugging a man in red along, cape billowing behind her.

Ema’s eyes bugged out of her head. “Oh what the fu–uuuun time we’re having,” she said, eyeing Trucy apprehensively. From what Klavier had seen, she wasn’t entirely unfounded in her fear of what Herr Wright would do to her for destroying his precious daughter’s innocence. “What are you doing here, Apollo? You can’t be defending this guy, can you?” She took a bag of Snackoos from her pouch (Are those okay to eat…? Klavier wondered, staring at the numerous vials).

Apollo sighed, shooting a pointed glare at Klavier. “No. Prosecutor Gavin enlisted Trucy for the Drag Apollo to Places He Shouldn’t Be squad, apparently.”

“DAPHSB,” Trucy summarized eloquently.

“DAPHSB,” Klavier agreed.

“I hate you both,” Apollo muttered, massaging his temples.

“Okay, well, if you’re not defending, what’s your reason for being here?” asked Ema suspiciously, munching on her snacks.

“Like I said. Prosecutor Gavin insisted that I be here for some reason, I disagreed, and then he got Trucy to drag me here.”

“They’re my investigative aids,” Klavier said brightly, throwing an arm around both Trucy and Apollo.

Ema turned her gaze to Trucy, who was smiling up at her sweetly. “And you. Should I be concerned? Don’t you have school today? Do I need to call your dad?”

Trucy just removed her hat and spun around, striking a pose. “Nope! Today’s one of those teacher-in-service days that nobody understands,” she giggled.

“Have a little faith in our magical girl!” exclaimed Klavier, leaning his elbow lightly on top of Trucy’s now-bare head. She stuck her tongue out at him good-naturedly. “You’ve seen her at crime scenes before, Fräulein.”

Ema looked like she sincerely wanted to punch him in the face, but she settled for throwing a Snackoo at him (which was deftly caught in Trucy’s mouth, somehow). “Legally, I can’t do anything about this, but personally I take offense. Go to hell, Gavin. Nice to see you, Trucy.” She stormed off, snapping at one of the other detectives about luminol.

“Where does that leave me?” wondered Apollo.

Klavier smiled and waggled his brows. “At the crime scene. I told you it'd be fine. Now...” He took a deep breath in preparation.

“Don’t say it,” Apollo groaned. “Please do not say it.”

“Achtung, baby!”

The back room at Roy & Aster’s was nothing to write home about. With strict instructions from Ema not to touch anything, Trucy and Apollo stood examining the place from afar, Apollo’s latex gloves sticking to the tips of his fingers as he held his face in one hand. There was indeed a safe on the western wall with some kind of combination lock that didn’t look broken. It was completely barren, but there was a scattering of fingerprints on the inside and a small evidence tag that read C-3. Roped off was an area where he could vaguely make out rusty-looking smears, and the place was in total disarray.

“Ach. What a mess,” Klavier muttered, crouching down to inspect the floor in front of the safe, where there were some dusty shoe prints left over. “I don’t suppose you have a convenient hospital slipper to compare these to, Forehead?”

“Not this time.” Apollo was staring intently at the desk. This wouldn’t have been strange in and of itself, but it was the location at which he was staring that was odd.

“Forehead?”

Apollo pointed down at the base of the desk, where the attached filing cabinet was resting on the rug. “The desk’s been moved. It looks pretty recent.” He squatted as Trucy narrowed her eyes at the carpet.

“Huh,” she said, “I don’t know how I missed that. There’s an impression in the rug. Good catch, Polly!” She moved to get closer, and Apollo held out an arm to stop her.

“Look, there’s the corner of something sticking out from under it. A paper or something.” He looked up at Klavier. “What do you think? Should we call Ema?”

Klavier crossed his arms contemplatively. “Ask permission or forgiveness? The age-old question. Besides, how many times have you poked around a crime scene before?”

Apollo pulled one of his bangs out and let it spring back into place. Klavier wondered idly how that even worked. “I dunno. What if it’s something important, and we need to prove that it was under the desk when we found it?” He shrugged at the others’ inquisitive looks. “What? Just a hunch. I know I’ve seen weirder things in the courtroom.”

“A fair point.”

Trucy bounced to her feet, eager to be helpful. “I’ll get Ema!” she called, already racing out of the room.

Klavier watched her go. “So, Forehead,” he said as her cape whipped around the corner, “lunch once we’re done here?”

The other man gave him a look. “And leave Trucy? Yeah, right. Mr. Wright would kill me.”

“I never said it just had to be us two.” Klavier raised an eyebrow pointedly. “Unless you wanted it to be a date? Something you’re not telling me, Herr Forehead?”

“Oh, shut it, Gavin,” Apollo muttered, reaching out to prod the yellow corner of whatever was sticking out before he thought better of it.

Ema bustled in the room, slapping Apollo’s hand and shoving him away as he squawked indignantly. The pink-lensed glasses were on; she was intense, grinning like a lunatic. “Move it, ‘Pollo, I’m serious,” she yelled, despite poor Apollo having already been tossed to the floor. Ema first took pictures of the scene on her phone, clearly ecstatic at this development, then carefully took out something that looked like a lever, shimmying it under the desk. “Fop. Go over to the other side and brace the drawers so they don’t fall open.”

Klavier knew better than to ask questions while Ema was in Investigation Mode, so he did as he was told without saying a word. She huffed and depressed one end of the lever; the desk was raised with the fulcrum on Klavier’s side. He got the brief impression of a car being lifted for maintenance.

Ema plucked the offensive object out from the desk’s shadow carefully and wordlessly placed it in a clear evidence bag. It was… a yellow envelope.

A yellow envelope. Klavier forced his breathing to even, because he could already see spots in his vision. It’s not what you think. Yellow envelopes aren’t so uncommon that they wouldn’t be found in an office. Even so, he couldn’t help but flash back to the trial, to the stamp he could still see pressed to the corner of the envelope—

He felt an awkward hand fumble to touch his shoulder. He looked over, and Apollo Justice was making a face somewhere between understanding and concern. Klavier finally slowed his breaths, focusing on the contact. It flashed through his mind that it was rather amusing for Apollo to reach up to his shoulder, what with their height difference, and the corner of his mouth quirked up a little. Apollo took this as a sign that it was okay to let go.

Still busy with her new evidence, Ema was inspecting the envelope from all angles, and finally decided that it was time to dust it for fingerprints. She extracted it carefully from its plastic sarcophagus and turned it over in gloved hands. It was pretty fascinating, seeing her totally focused like that. Klavier was so intently watching her that he jumped when she gasped loudly, nearly dropping the envelope in surprise.

“What?” demanded Trucy, and Klavier jolted again; how could someone with such a presence not be noticed entering a small room with only three other people?

“There’s writing,” Ema said breathlessly, already digging in her bag for some kind of chemical. “It looks like blood. Wow, this is a great find! Nice one, Trucy!”

Apollo piped up, “What’s it say?”

“Oh.” Ema paused in her search, pushing up her glasses and taking a second look. Then a third. “What the fuck,” she whispered, scanning the writing again.

“Fräulein?” Apollo had moved to instinctively cover Trucy’s ears (she slapped him away, saying something about being “almost sixteen”), so Klavier took the liberty of stepping behind Ema, leaning over, and reading the words off the inside of the envelope’s torn flap.

“...’law, Gavin, Justice...only room for two’,” he read, his eyes widening incrementally with each word. Then, with a glance at Apollo, “What... do you...”

Apollo, for his part, looked like he’d just missed getting hit by a speeding bus. “What. Is that doing. In Aster’s office?” His voice started as an almost-whisper, and crescendoed into a vocal workout that might have rivaled his pre-trial routine.

“Yellow envelope,” Klavier said numbly. “Blood. Two. Hah...”

Ema cut in mercifully before his thoughts could spiral. “Okay. We don’t know what this means, exactly. Gavin, take Apollo and Trucy and get the hell out of here. Don’t argue. This could very easily be construed as a threat, and if Apollo really does have a connection to this place, I don’t want to take any risks.” Her glasses went down over her eyes again, and she shooed them away, Klavier feeling faint. He slumped against the wall.

“There is only room for two,” he repeated weakly, staring into the distance.

“Klavier,” Apollo intoned seriously. He snapped his head downward to look at him. “I know. I know what this feels like right now. But Ema was right, we should get out of here.”

“I feel like I’m missing something,” said Trucy, looking between the two. “I mean, it’s super creepy that whoever it is wrote your names in blood or whatever, but…”

“It’s not just that, Truce. Let’s walk and talk. Put some distance between us and the scene,” Apollo replied calmly, eyeing Klavier’s ashen face. “Are you gonna be alright, Prosecutor Gavin?”

Klavier shuddered, swallowed, gave a faltering smile, and nodded. “...Achtung. Let’s walk.”

A few minutes into their walk back to the Prosecutor’s Office, Trucy piped up again. “Okay, what was that about? What made everyone so freaky back there?”

Klavier and Apollo looked at each other, and Apollo sighed. “Remember Vera’s trial, Truce?” he asked. “That evidence from the mailbox. It was a letter in a yellow envelope, addressed to ‘David Krisler’; Kristoph Gavin.”

Trucy nodded, looking thoughtful. “Okay, but yellow isn’t that uncommon, right? Couldn’t it have been a coincidence?”

Taking a deep breath, Klavier picked up where Apollo had left off. “Maybe not, but in addition to our names written in blood, it said, ‘only room for two’. Mein bruder… That’s what he said, just before the jurists gave their verdicts. ‘There is only room for two in this court: me, and the law’.”

“‘The law, Gavin, Justice’,” murmured Trucy, looking rather stricken now. “What could it mean?”

Gravely, Apollo said, “I really would rather not find out. We... Klavier's definitely had enough. For a lifetime.”

.

“I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to continue prosecuting this case, Gavin,” Edgeworth told him.

Klavier stood in the Chief Prosecutor’s office, biting his lip to keep from saying something he’d regret. “I’m personally involved now, Herr Edgeworth,” he said carefully, staring at the tea set and the Steel Samurai figure on the windowsill instead of at his boss.

In return, he got the patented Miles Edgeworth Glare. “That’s exactly why you can’t take this case. I’m sure you recall what I said yesterday. Besides which, this could now be considered a conflict of interest, and in assigning you this case, the P.I.C might jump at the chance to get both you and me in some hot water.” He crossed his arms and tapped a finger thoughtfully. “They’re already not very fond of me due to some issues I caused them some years ago and the changes I’m trying to implement now. I hesitate to give them any more reasons to look into my career.”

Klavier was silent, trying to think of a better argument, but really, he was just tired. So, so tired. He opened his mouth to concede when the door banged open.

“Hey Edgeworth, what’d you mean by–” The intruder stopped when he looked up from the papers in his hand, surprised by Klavier’s presence. “Oh, my bad. I’ll come back later,” Phoenix Wright said quickly, turning to leave.

“Get back here, Wright,” Edgeworth called, not looking the least bit surprised. “We were just about done anyway.”

Wright slunk back into the room, a little sheepish. He looked far more put-together than Klavier had seen him since the Gramarye trial, wearing blue slacks and a white button-up shirt. His face was still a little scruffy (Klavier guessed he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days) and he was in desperate need of a haircut, but Phoenix Wright looked… almost like he belonged here.

“Uh… Hey, Gavin. I don’t suppose you know where Apollo and my daughter went off to yesterday morning?” Wright addressed him with a bit of a smirk.

“Ach. Sorry about that, Herr Wright. Your daughter insisted.” From the casual way Wright was speaking, Klavier guessed he didn’t know what happened at the crime scene. It was probably for the best, anyway.

Edgeworth cleared his throat. “Gavin. Because of your… involvement, I am reassigning the case. I no longer trust either of the Paynes with this, so I will be giving it to Ms. von Karma. Is that clear?” Once the glare's come out... Klavier thought glumly.

Wright looked surprised. “Franziska is in town? I thought she was doing some Interpol stuff in Europe.” Since when are you on first-name terms with Franziska von Karma? wondered Klavier.

“Yes. I imagine she will be over to see Trucy tonight, Wright, so get your apartment in order.” Trucy? Why is she seeing Trucy?

Wright sighed. “Yeah, okay. Thanks for the heads-up, Miles. I haven't forgotten the whole repossession debacle. Mind if I use some of your books while I’m here?”

“As if my permission has ever stopped you from meddling in my office.”

Klavier was pretty sure he’d been forgotten at this point, so he interjected. “Er, Herr Edgeworth, is there anything else?”

Edgeworth blinked. Maybe he really had forgotten Klavier was there. “No. You may return to working on your hit-and-run case now, Gavin. Dismissed.”

Klavier was a bit baffled by this development, walking absently back to his office and staring at the floor. He knew that Edgeworth and Wright were something like friends, of course, and used to be what was essentially the ultimate power-duo in court back in their heyday. It would make sense for them to occasionally communicate about cases and the like, even if Wright was disbarred. He still had one hell of a legal mind, after all. Maybe they would even know where the other lived. How Franziska von Karma and Wright’s daughter fit into the puzzle eluded him. Did Trucy report on him back to his boss?! Why was von Karma visiting Trucy of her own accord?! How did they even meet?!

Klavier stopped in the middle of the hallway. Gott im Himmel. What if Wright still held a grudge? What if he got info from Apollo and Trucy–? Wait, no, cool it, Klavier. Not everyone was conniving and scheming and manipulative like Kris. Still…

He was dialing Apollo’s number before he realized. The line picked up and he heard white noise on the other end. “...Again?”

“Forehead. Please answer me. How the hell does Trucy know the terrifying prosecutor, Franziska von Karma, and why are they close enough for the Interpol agent, Franziska von Karma, to visit Trucy at the Wrights’ apartment?” It sounded ridiculous as he said it, because why would Apollo know? It was too late to retract his words, though, so he just shook his head and continued back to his office.

“Right?!” Apollo exploded on the other end. Klavier held the phone away from his ear; his friend’s voice put the Gavinners’ amps to shame. “She’s been talking about seeing her ‘Tante Franzy’ all day, and when I asked her who that was supposed to be, she told me that it was famed Interpol agent and high prosecutor Franziska von Karma! She even showed me pictures of her and Franziska von Karma at the zoo! In front of the tigers! Do you have any idea what kind of impact she's had on international trade laws and cracking down on smuggling?”

“Smuggling, huh... Scheiße, what does this mean?”

“I have been trying to figure that out all day!” Apollo fumed. “Tigers and a whip… sounds like that one circus case Mr. Wright took on a long time ago.” He paused then. “Uh. Why’re we talking about Franziska von Karma?”

Klavier froze then, too. Why’d he call again? “Oh! Prosecutor von Karma is taking the case from yesterday, now.” His voice sobered a little. “I don’t know how to feel about that, honestly.”

Apollo measured his words. “I think it’s probably for the best,” he said finally. “You don’t… you really don’t need to deal with that shit right now.”

“Ah, Mein Forehead. You always know exactly what I need to hear,” Klavier sighed, stretching in his desk chair languidly. “Still, though, I don’t like it. This feels like some score I should settle, since it’s personal. You share that feeling, ja, Forehead?”

“I think I understand.” There was silence on the other end for a moment. “But you really don’t need to go through something like that after the last… half a year, now, huh. I know you don’t want to hear this–the Holy Mother knows that I wouldn’t–but I think what you really need is a break. Time off.”

Klavier leaned back, taking a stabilizing breath. “You sound like my boss,” he said, with half the cadence of a joke. “But… I suppose you and Herr Edgeworth being particularly black pots can be a discussion for another day. This kettle just might need to take your advice.” With everything going to shit, it hardly seemed worth his time to argue.

Apollo gave a sigh of what might have been relief, but Klavier wasn’t about to get his hopes up. “Mein fruend, one favor in exchange, though,” Klavier continued.

“If you ask me out on a dinner date again I’m hanging up.”

Klavier huffed something like a laugh. “Nein. I was going to ask…" He paused, considering, then plowed on. "Would you accompany me to visit Kristoph? I have some questions for him, and…” You’re the closest person to a friend or family member I have. You’re the only one who understands. My emotional stability might be hinging on the infrequent phone calls and occasional correspondence with you. “I want you there.”

“Oh.” Apollo didn’t reply for a moment, and Klavier instantly regretted asking him. What a stupid question; of course Apollo didn’t want to see his homicidal ex-employer-slash-mentor figure that he put away on charges of first degree murder twice. Of course he wasn’t that close to Klavier, who had only teased him and put on some stupid fake persona like always, who was just his courtroom rival at best and a clingy inconvenience at worst. Of course–

“Of course I’ll come with you, Klavier.”

Letting out a long breath, Klavier put his phone back up to his ear. “Thank you, Apollo.”

“O-oh. Well, yeah. I might act it sometimes, but I’m really not a dick.”

He smiled. “Oh, and you called me Klavier again.”

Apollo took a moment to let that process. “W-well, yeah, of course. That’s your name, so naturally… I called you that, yeah. Sorry,” he stuttered loudly.

“You never say my first name. It’s alright, most people don’t. But… you did it back at the crime scene yesterday, too. It was grounding. Thanks for that. Wirklich.”

Klavier couldn’t see him, but he knew Apollo was lobster-red when he spluttered, “Oh, uh, ha. Yeah. It’s no problem. Haha. Okay. Well, I gotta go, Kl–Prosecutor Gavin. Let me know when we’re gonna go to the detention center. Bye.” There was a sound like he fumbled his phone, and then he hung up.

“Auf Wiedersehen, Apollo,” Klavier said into the black screen of his phone, smiling a little, and opened the hit-and-run file on one of his monitors.

Chapter Text

The detention center was cold.

That is probably to be expected of a detention center; one would imagine insular cinder-block walls, icy tile floors, hard seats that are bolted to the ground. The lights flicker in their tubes impartially. It can be harrowing if you were to visit a family member there, especially if one isn’t familiar with the place.

Neither of these conditions were necessarily true for Klavier anymore. He was a prosecutor, meaning his job took him to the detention center often, even if the solitary confinement room wasn’t where he normally went. As for Kristoph, Klavier was trying his best to not think of him as his family anymore, even if that meant he had none left at all.

He found himself marveling at the fact that anyone would agree to sit beside him in the waiting room, and even more so that the one doing it was Apollo Justice. Klavier was a very tactile person; he enjoyed friendly gestures like flinging arms around shoulders or even giving squeezes to hands. This was unfortunate today, though, because the man beside him was one of the least tactile people Klavier had ever met, and though he was in some desperate need of comfort, he respected the boundaries of those he was close with (despite what some would assume, he wouldn’t toe the line if he could help it). So he kept his hands to himself as they waited solemnly in the cold, cold detention center waiting room, no matter how much he felt like he needed to hold or be held.

It wasn’t awkward, exactly, but they were clearly both nervous. The man they were there to see had meddled with and shattered many lives, after all, and Klavier was loath to forget it. They sat in still, unperturbed quiet.

There were many things Klavier wanted to say to the man right beside him. Danke, wirklich. I’m sorry about everything my brother did to ruin your life, for example, or Would you hate me if I said I still care for him? or I really want to hug you right now, Apollo, on the slim chance you’d be alright with it. He said none of these things, because the atmosphere was tense and nervous enough without him piping up with his deepest, darkest thoughts. He fidgeted with his hands in his lap, twirling one of his rings around his finger compulsively. Klavier thought he saw Apollo’s eyes flicker in his direction. How did that strange perceptiveness work, he wondered; was it just some kind of crazy kinetic vision? Then again, though, Apollo could notice far more than simple, bold-faced lies, no matter how much someone would try to hide it. He hoped to never be on the witness stand in a Justice-defended trial.

“GAVIN, KLAVIER!” a guard shouted from the doorway, and they both jumped. Klavier swallowed hard past the lump in his throat and began to stand. Suddenly, there was a steady weight on his shoulder, and he looked over to see Apollo reaching up to clasp his hand there, his eyes determined. It was maybe one of the only times Apollo had willingly touched him at all. Klavier could feel the relief and gratitude on his face. The other man gave his shoulder a light squeeze and let go as they followed the guard into the adjoining hallway.

Prisoners from maximum security are given very special regulations when being visited. For one, they must be handcuffed at all times. They are not, technically, allowed to receive personal effects during the visit, although for certain individuals this rule is largely ignored. They are shackled to the bolted-down chair by their ankles. Et cetera; Klavier didn’t really know every single rule, because every time he wanted to research it, his head began to throb painfully.

His brother’s calculating gaze followed the two attorneys as they made their way to his table. Kristoph Gavin wore the most unfashionable thing he had ever worn: a gray prison jumpsuit haphazardly stamped with an ID in bold, black lettering. His glasses were perched on his nose delicately, and even in prison his hair was coiffed to perfection. Of all the people to present himself to, though, Apollo Justice and Klavier Gavin were the least convinced by his Euro-chic lawyer facade.

Kristoph somehow seemed to be looking down at them even as they stood above where he sat, taking in the two intruders with his cold blue eyes. Klavier felt an icy trickle down his spine. He desperately hoped that nobody he looked at felt this way.

“So,” Kristoph started, his tone conversational with a layer of condescension. “Here stand the two prodigal sons of the Gavin name. The engineers of my downfall, sans one Phoenix Wright. What a delight, Klavier, Justice.” His shackled wrists jangled as he lifted them above the table’s edge.

Klavier’s mouth felt dry. He hadn’t expected this to be so hard. He even had a mission in mind for the visit, damn it. The veins in his hands popped as he clenched his fists in his pockets. Don’t let him get to you. He’s been getting to you your whole life.

“You engineered your own downfall, Mr. Gavin,” Apollo snapped in lieu of a greeting. His hands, too, were balled into fists, although they hung at his side. “The truth always comes out eventually. You should know that.”

Kristoph tilted his head up, and his glasses flashed at them. “My, my, but you’ve been spending far too much time around that loathsome, pathetic man,” he smarmed. “Tell me, do you know how easy it was to whisper in Wright’s ear? An innocuous remark about his precious daughter, or perhaps about one of his sisters, the Feys, and he was all but throwing himself to comply with my advi–”
“SHUT UP!” Apollo yelled, his voice booming around the empty room. The guard stepped forward, reaching toward his side, and Klavier quickly made eye contact with Apollo and shook his head. He sat down in the chair heavily. There was a dense silence; Kristoph seemed unperturbed, examining his perfectly manicured nails.

Apollo’s voice shook with barely-suppressed emotion. “Mr. Wright is a thousand times the man you’ll ever be, Kristoph,” he spat, gritting his teeth.

“How little respect you have for your betters, Justice,” remarked Kristoph. Klavier’s remaining patience frayed.

“You’ve never been better than Apollo,” growled Klavier dangerously. He could feel one of his rings–the sharp one again–digging into the neighboring finger, and a warm pinprick of blood oozed out.

Kristoph turned his attention finally to his brother. “Ah, so that’s what it took for you to speak up, Kleiner Bruder.” His lips stretched thinly over his perfect, white teeth as he spoke, and Klavier felt sick at the term of endearment. “You’ve always been rather reluctant to voice your own thoughts, you know. Why, even when our parents would scold us, you always took the blame.”

Klavier’s jaw set and he met his brother’s eyes with equal malice. “We’re not here for you to belittle us, Kristoph. We have business with you; I’m sure you can respect that, at least?”

“Well now, here I thought you came to visit your only family out of the kindness of your heart, Klavier,” Kristoph said evenly. “Alas, the illusion is now gone. Out with it, then.”

Klavier reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a quartered sheet of paper. Unfolding it, he got a drop of blood on the edge. “First question, Kris,” he said, “What the hell is this?” He pressed the printout of the evidence photo up against the plexiglass barrier, and Kristoph craned his neck to see it more clearly.

He gave a chuckle. “It seems I’ve got an admirer!” Kristoph gave as a non-answer. “How flattering.”

“There’s no way you don’t know about this,” Apollo said loudly, arms crossed as he gripped his sleeves tightly.

“Justice, you should know better than anyone when I am not being truthful, so I’ll say it plain: I have no idea where that piece of evidence came from, nor who made it.”

Apollo’s hand was on his wrist. He frowned deeply, confusion sparking in his eyes. “No,” he muttered. “But then how…?”

Klavier slammed his hands on the table, leaning in toward the glass. The paper fluttered delicately downward. “What game are you playing, Kris? You have to know something about this. Too many things add up. Was versteckst du?!”

Kristoph laughed again. “Nichts,” he replied. “How little faith you have in your little defense attorney. How caught up you are in blaming me when you could be finding who is truly responsible. What poor excuses for attorneys, with only one lead. I thought I taught you better than that, Justice.”

Glancing over, Klavier saw that Apollo’s face was red with anger. “Eat shit, Kristoph,” he snapped, shaggy eyebrows drawn together in the kind of rage Klavier had only witnessed once or twice before.

“Please. Don’t act as if you’re better than I am. You and Wright really are birds of a feather; you charge right in without thinking and posture like something’s been solved. Incarcerating me won’t do anything on a larger scale; it’s a blip on the radar. You haven’t changed a single thing, Justice.” Kristoph’s unimpressed expression morphed into something more sinister, his mouth twisting upward in a gross approximation of a smile. “I hope you’ll remember that next time you think you can truly make a difference.”

For a moment, Klavier thought that Apollo was going to punch right through the glass, he was shaking so hard. Then he slumped, hands uncurling, letting out a huff of breath. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ll never make a difference; maybe no one will ever even remember my name. But that’s not what’s important here, Mr. Gavin.” He looked up, eyes blazing. “What’s important is that you lost. You lost and you can never hurt anyone else again. Not me, not Mr. Wright, not Trucy, not Vera, and definitely not Klavier.”

Klavier’s eyes widened, and he looked at Apollo with something akin to wonder. The defense attorney was staring determinedly ahead, his left hand clutched at his lapel. On the other side of the glass, Kristoph clucked his tongue.

“And I suppose you planned to carry out that mission by intimidating whatever information you could out of me,” the prisoner sighed, shaking his head regretfully. “Whatever you think, I wouldn’t give yourselves so much credit. Any personal slights that have happened to either of you was simply collateral damage.”

Collateral Damage?

He shook with rage, his ears ringing. “That’s your damn problem!” snarled Klavier. Apollo startled and looked at him searchingly. “It was the same thing over a decade ago. You’ll never change.”

About a week ago, he was crouching on the tile floor of a public bathroom with his head over the toilet, having a panic attack because he saw Kristoph when he looked in the mirror. A few days ago, he couldn’t so much as breathe because he saw a yellow envelope at a crime scene. As if the ways he’d been impacted by his brother could be boiled down to collateral damage; as if the lives he ruined were immaterial, inconsequential. More than sick, Klavier felt furious.

He snatched up the printout of the yellow envelope and stormed toward the door. Klavier hesitated as his rings clinked on the cold metal handle. “I meant it, Kris. You’re not needed anymore. And you never will be again.”

He flung the door open and stalked out.

It was a little less dramatic than he’d hoped. Anyone leaving the visitation room needed to be searched, and he was stopped right outside the door by a remorseless guard who was clearly not a fan of his and Apollo’s heated discussion with Kristoph.

That was all it took for Klavier’s rage to harden into self-loathing. This was a horrible, stupid idea, and he’d dragged Apollo into it, too. Klavier was sulking outside the detention center, having found that Apollo still had some things to ask Kristoph about.

It had been ten minutes.

Normally, Klavier would be concerned with getting his clothes dirty, but frankly, it wasn’t even on his mind as he sat on the steps of the detention center’s front entry. He was so selfish, wasn’t he? Thinking that he was some kind of protagonist in the world, when even his own brother saw him as nothing more than collateral damage.

He heard the door open, then close. Footsteps sounded behind him. Without looking, Klavier sighed, “I need to get shitfaced, Herr Forehead.”

“Wow. Rough day?”

That wasn’t Apollo’s voice. Finally turning, his eyes panned over deep blue slacks, a tucked-in shirt, and spiky hair.

“Oh. Herr Wright, hallo,” Klavier mustered, not bothering to inject the greeting with his usual glamorous cheer. Of course karma was a particular type of bitch today. “Not to be rude, but why are you here?”

Wright sat down next to him, elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. “Visiting an old… er, ‘friend’ may be a stretch. Either way, he’s been a pretty big impact on my life for something like eight years now. Maybe more, if you count the time before I actually met the guy.” His hand went to the back of his neck, and he played with the spikes there.

Klavier stared forward, his eyes trained on the other side of the street. “I see. I’m not exactly sure what all that means, but we’ve all had our complicated relationships before.” He couldn’t help but think immediately, Case in point.

The older man smirked. It wasn’t the wry, jaded half-smile of the last few years, but the same self-assured grin he wore in court that Klavier had seen all over the papers before he’d gotten his own badge. “Yeah, no kidding. He’s a good guy, though, Armando. I owe him my sister’s life. And I thought I’d begin to pay it forward to him by telling him I’m gonna retake the bar.” He looked over to Klavier, mismatched eyes sparking with a light that had long since gone out. “I was gonna tell you, too, so this all worked out pretty nicely, at least.”

Klavier turned his full attention toward Wright now. He felt his eyebrows lift hopefully. “Really…?” he said quietly, not daring to believe that the damage he’d done could be reversed. This ‘collateral damage’ that he’d played a part in… it had ruined a man’s life for nearly a decade. That it could be fixed… that he hadn’t permanently soiled the legacy of one of the best legal minds in their world like coffee spilling on a page hadn’t even crossed his mind.

Wright smiled in full, and he looked eight years younger. He clapped Klavier on the shoulder. “Really. The Bar Association’s cleared me, thanks in no small part to Edgeworth, and as soon as I study and get the paperwork together, I’ll be able to take the exam again.” His face dimmed a little bit, becoming serious. “And I want you to know, Gavin–no, Klavier. I don’t hold a grudge, and I certainly don’t blame you for whatever happened in the past. You’re a great kid with strong ideals, and you’re more than your brother’s shadow. Plus, you make Apollo really happy. I haven’t seen him with this kind of appreciation for life since I met him. Keep on being his friend for me, alright?” He winked.

“...Thank you, Herr Wright.” For the first time in days, Klavier felt light.

“No problem. Hope your day gets better, kid.” Wright stood, brushing off some dust from his pants. “Oh, before I forget, I guess I also have to give the obligatory Dad Talk, too. Don’t you dare hurt Apollo or Trucy, alright? I don’t think you would, but it’s kind of my job to say that anyway.”

Klavier smiled. “Noted,” he said, also standing and shaking Wright’s hand. Something stood out as different to him. “Herr Wright, do you normally wear rings?”

Wright seemed to startle a bit, his eyes flicking down to the gold band set with what appeared to be sapphires on his right hand. It was a very pretty ring, certainly. “Uh, I guess you could say I don’t, normally. Not in public, anyway.” He extracted his hand from Klavier’s grip and shoved both in his pockets. Maybe it was personal; Klavier knew how it was, so he didn’t pry. “Anyway. I better go. I promised Truce we’d get Eldoon’s today, and if there’s anything that girl can remember, it’s a promise of noodles.”

It wasn’t until after Wright got his bike and rode off, waving brightly at him, that Klavier let the tears fall. The prosecutor sat back down and buried his face in his hands, letting himself shake with hysterical sobs. Gott. How much pent-up guilt had he held onto for so long; how much regret was finally flowing out of him because of a short conversation with a man he had been convinced hated his guts? He didn’t even notice when the door opened again behind him and Apollo walked out until he said, “Sorry, I was mostly yelling at him in the–Klavier?”

He sniffed, wiping his eyes with his jacket sleeve as Apollo looked at him in alarm. “I always have the w-worst timing, ja, Herr Forehead?” Klavier said, giving him a watery smile. “I don’t think I’ve actually cried like this in years.”

“O-oh. Um, are you okay? I don’t think–shit, I don’t have any tissues, um, is there anything…? That bastard. Damn it, I’m gonna kill Kristoph, I swea–”

“Nein, Forehead, it’s okay. I actually just had a heart-to-heart with your boss. He said some things that… really meant a lot to me, and I suppose I’ve been holding on to this guilt for so long that I… that it all just came out.” Klavier shook his head. “So long I’ve felt this way, and I didn’t even know. At least these tears are good ones.”

That seemed to confuse the other man even more. “Mr. Wright? He was here? Why would he be here?”

“Something about an old friend-if-you-stretch-the-definition, seems like. Mercado? Alonso? I can’t remember. But that’s not important.” Klavier looked at Apollo seriously. “It seems I had the wrong impression of Herr Wright for as long as I can remember. He’s an excellent man.”

Apollo’s expression evolved into bewilderment. “Er, okay. I think if I keep asking questions I’ll just get more confused, so… let’s leave it at that for now. Are you okay, though?”

Klavier stood one final time, swiping his thumbs below his eyes and flipping his hair for good measure. “Ja. No point in doing this now, anyway. Achtung, Forehead, I’m hungry; let’s get something to eat. Not noodles, though, if you please.” He started off without waiting for Apollo’s answer, giving him another chance to fix himself and extract his sunglasses from his pocket.

Apollo jogged up beside him, mercifully dropping the subject. “Okay, but where are we going?” he asked, glancing sidelong at him.

He hummed. “Not sure yet. Maybe just to some food truck somewhere. I never get the chance to eat from those. Maybe I’ll make some vendor’s day.” Flashing a dazzling smile, he looked over. Apollo seemed unimpressed as usual.

“In that case, I think you need some help. I know all the good vendors. C’mon; there’s a good Khura’inese place a few blocks away, and I know the guy who runs it.”

Does Herr Forehead know every small restaurant owner in the city? Klavier wondered, but didn’t ask as he and Apollo made their way through alleys to their destination. Klavier was glad for that, at least; walking streetside in his normal attire would attract a swarm faster than you could say “paparazzi,” and something told him that Apollo wouldn’t be afraid to ditch him if he encountered even a single camera.

The Khura’inese place in question was a truck just outside what looked to be a modest house, its white exterior decorated with colorful hanging flags and a sign that could be read in the native tongue or English. There was a boy in front, no older than twelve, his marked forehead partially obscured by shaggy black hair. “Apollo? Hap’piraki!” he greeted, and Apollo responded in kind. Klavier lost track of the conversation from there.

Klavier was good at owning his presence and facing his mistakes head-on; when you had a public image to maintain, it was an important skill to nurture. Like with all things Apollo, however, he had no idea how to navigate this situation. For once, he didn’t know how to speak the language, and without anything to say, he took to staring at the boy’s shoes, trying his best to pick apart the words that were rapidly passing his ears by.

Apollo delightedly took notice of his discomfort. “What’s up, Prosecutor Gavin? I don’t think you’ve ever been silent for this many consecutive seconds,” he commented, one eyebrow quirked just a little upward to betray his amusement.

“Ach, nothing, Herr Forehead. Simply pretending to understand a language I don’t speak.”

At this, Apollo’s face cracked fully into a smug grin. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Prosecutor Gavin. It must be just terrible to not speak a language that your friend is using in your presence. What kind of monster would do something like that?”

Klavier put a hand to his chest, gasping theatrically and leaning forward to meet him at eye level. “I must apologize, Herr Forehead, I wasn’t aware I was speaking fully in German this whole time. Ist das besser? Verstehst du mich jetzt?”

“God, you’re the worst.”

Maybe it was the first time someone had said that to him with a smile on their face. Maybe being called ‘the worst’ wouldn’t always be a bad thing. Maybe Kristoph was wrong, and he had people who cared about him after all.

Chapter Text

The case was naturally no match for Franziska von Karma’s prosecutorial prowess. By October 21, Klavier had been bugging her for days to allow him access to the evidence vault.

“Piano Gavin, I am a patient woman,” von Karma snapped finally, reaching for her whip. “However, even my patience for your antics is wearing thin. My answer remains unchanged. Speak with my brother if you are dissatisfied.”

Klavier trailed after her like a particularly persistent puppy. Even Franziska von Karma wouldn’t kick a puppy. “Frau von Karma, do I not have the right to know?”

Von Karma’s hand tightened around her whip in its holster and she spun around to face him again. Her icy eyes were sharp. “If anyone knows what sharing a name and legacy with a vile man is like, it is myself. This does not mean I am at liberty to disclose the details of the case to you.” She relinquished her grip and crossed her arms. “What Kristoph Gavin has done is despicable, but we have no evidence that he, nor you, is connected to what occurred at the restaurant. The defendant claimed to have no knowledge of the Misham trial, nor who your brother is. I have nothing more to give you. Farewell, Piano Gavin.”

It was a losing battle from the start. Von Karma had moved faster than anyone Klavier had ever seen in heels by the time he thought of anything to say. He wasn’t particularly eager to face her whip, besides.

“Lunch break,” Klavier growled, stalking back to his office and retrieving his phone from under a disarrayed stack of paperwork. He did the only thing he could think to in the moment: call upon his personal lunch buddy.

12:04 PM Herr Forehead: Ok, I think I can do that. Actually, thanks, that works out pretty good
12:05 PM Herr Forehead: Yeah Trucy wanted me to be her assistant. Tanks for the excuse
12:05 PM Herr Forehead: Thanks*
12:06 PM Me: anytime, Herr Forehead. see u soon ;) now u owe me a favor
12:07 PM Herr Forehead: Shut it, Gavin.

It was pretty cold for the area, almost like fall in Germany. The trees would never change color, nor would Klavier ever walk outside bundled in a coat and scarf, but the weather did justify wearing a jacket, so he picked out his favorite leather one and made his way to their agreed-upon location.

Apollo met him in front of the People Park, sporting a bright red (of course) hoodie and blue jeans, pumping his legs fiercely to get his bicycle up the hill. Plum Kitaki, who was sweeping outside the Kitaki residence, gave him a nod of recognition, which distracted him long enough for him to nearly sail straight into Klavier’s motorcycle. Four things occurred in quick succession.

One: Apollo turned his bike sharply just in time to miss totaling it on Klavier’s ride.

Two: He leapt off his bike as it began to skid on the pavement, straight toward Klavier, who was standing near the gate watching the whole fiasco.

Three: Klavier lunged and grabbed Apollo’s torso before he could painfully hit the ground, and he made some miscalculations, resulting in–

Four: Apollo and Klavier both stumbled backwards and fell on the ground, and in doing so, the back of Apollo’s skull cracked against Klavier’s nose; in turn, Klavier’s head also made contact with the ground.

They were both stunned and trying to process these events when Apollo scrambled out of what was essentially Klavier’s lap and stared him full in the face, completely mortified. Klavier could see spots, but considering he was still alive after that, he opened his mouth to confirm that he was, in fact, okay. Something warm and metallic pooled in his mouth, and he found himself spitting a very unattractive gob of blood onto the blacktop.

“Ugh,” he tried to say, “That’s pretty gross.” He was attempting to sound suave and casual in order to save face in front of Apollo, he could admit, but it came out a garbled mess, and his nose began to gush more. He swayed dizzily. “Uh. Ah.”

“Shit!” yelled Apollo, looking around frantically as if this were an actual medical emergency and Klavier would die without immediate assistance. Coming up short for something to stopper the blood, he peeled off his own sweatshirt and shoved it into Klavier’s arms. “Shit. Wait here. Don’t die.” He began to race off to God knows where before Plum Kitaki mercifully grabbed his arm and said something to him. Apollo’s small frame was still so tense he looked like a spooked rabbit while she went inside. He could almost see his hair horns quivering like alert ears.

It hurt, sure. A lot, even. But Klavier was fine, it was fine, holy shit that was a lot of blood. It splattered to the ground in an arrhythmic tempo, and now Klavier was very glad to have Herr Forehead’s hoodie (and even gladder that it was red to begin with). Apollo was coming back, accompanied by Wocky Kitaki, of all people.

“Oh hell, man, that’s fuckin’ gnarly,” Wocky exclaimed, kneeling down and giving Klavier a sharp-toothed grin and a thumbs-up. A double thumbs-up? Huh. Wait, no, he was setting down some kind of case now. “Respect.”

“Ngh,” gurgled Klavier, trying his best not to pitch forward.

Wocky opened his case matter-of-factly, digging through the contents until he found what he was looking for and peeling the ruined sweatshirt away from Klavier’s face. “Alright, dude, I had to do some hella first aid before, when I was all fighting in turf wars in the gang and all’at shit. I know some stuff, my brothers and me got hurt a lot. I got you, cuz. First off, lean forward some and use these,” he instructed, shoving some thick towels in his hands.

Klavier would have obliged, if he wasn’t so dizzy. “Ogh by Gob,” he said eloquently as he fell backward, making a disgusting gargling-slash-sucking sound as he tried to breathe in. Luckily, Wocky grabbed a fistful of his shirt and dragged him back upright before he could hit his head again, making a sharp pain shoot straight through his skull. “Aubtch.”

“Jesus, fine. Weak-ass. You hold that shit, Attorney-man,” Wocky said instead, forcing the towels into Apollo’s hands while he maintained his grip on Klavier’s shirt. “Yo, Glitzy. This gauze goes right up here,” he continued, indicating the spot on himself between his upper lip and front teeth. For some reason, he still trusted Klavier’s motor skills enough to let him do it. Apollo looked so pale he might pass out. Not good with blood. Noted.

Plum Kitaki shuffled up to them then, wielding something bright blue. “Here you go, Lawyer-boy, this should reduce the swelling.”

Apollo took the ice pack gratefully. Klavier’s head swam and his ears were ringing, so he focused on his friend’s bracelet. He said something Klavier couldn’t quite hear, and Mrs. Kitaki shook her head, replying along the lines of “We owe you one, Dear.” The ice pack was on his nose, and Klavier’s eyes were trained on Apollo’s golden bangle.

“I think I’b dying,” said Klavier then, feeling absolutely, a hundred percent certain that he was dying, because his vision was clouding in like some old film’s vignette.

“Shut your trap, man, you’re fuckin’ dramatic,” Wocky grumbled with a roll of his eyes. “A nosebleed never killed no one. I got shot in the heart, dude. Don’t be a little bitch.”

“Uh-huh,” Klavier agreed before fainting forward like a little bitch.

He certainly couldn’t have been out for more than a few seconds, in his opinion, but unless teleportation was suddenly real and he had conveniently fainted bridal-style in Herr Kitaki the elder’s arms, it seemed like it had been longer than Klavier thought between his awarenesses.

Without really registering, he was being deposited in some clinic’s room and forced to drink water once they realized he was conscious. Vaguely he found that his face felt swollen and sore, but he was rather more interested in the fact that Apollo was still there, wringing his hands guiltily in his bloodied sweatshirt.

The doctor was asking him (more generally, Apollo) his symptoms and after some tests diagnosed him with a moderate concussion and a fractured nose. According to the man, he was incredibly lucky that his nasal ridge wasn’t completely cracked, but he would need to wear a splint until it was healed enough to get a septorhinoplasty for his now-deviated septum. Great.

Also, he was under strict directions to get some rest for his concussion. This would have been fine, if a little annoying, except for the part that came next.

“You’ll need someone to look after you for about 24 hours, to make sure you don’t experience any worsening symptoms and to occasionally do tasks that might require more significant brainpower,” said the doctor matter-of-factly, like this was at all possible for him.

“Uhh,” started Klavier, a little embarrassed. “Herr Doktor, I don’t have anyone to take care of me at home.” He wasn’t sure if the heat in his face was from the concussion, his swollen nose, or the ludicrous patheticness of his situation, but it wasn’t making his headache any better.

The doctor blinked and opened his mouth, but Apollo decided to jump in. “Actually, Klavier, I could do it, I don’t mind,” he said, far too loud for Klavier’s intensifying pain. At the wince his voice elicited, he lowered it. “Sorry. It’s my fault, anyway.” He looked so incredibly guilty, his eyes downcast and his scruffy brows drawn up in concern.

Klavier kind of just stared at him, jaw hanging open a little. He blamed the way his brain refused to process those words on his concussion. “Huh.”

That must have sounded enough like an affirmative for the staff, who helped him up and swept him toward the front desk to sort out his insurance. Incidentally, this was something he needed help with due to his condition, so in addition to literally everything else, he was now sharing all of his personal details with Apollo fucking Justice and was being escorted back to his own house along with Apollo fucking Justice in the Kitakis’ stylish car. Things were happening way too fast for Klavier’s addled brain to keep up.

He vaguely registered that the back of his jacket was scuffed to all hell as he leaned on Apollo getting out of the car. Something occurred to him as he tried to fish out his keys from his pocket. “Vongole,” he said with a grimace.

“Clams? Your dog? What about her?” asked Apollo, because he’d never personally encountered the maniac of a golden retriever before.

“She’s… protective. Kris trained her well, but she’s really bad with strangers. Ach. Maybe he actually meant for her to react like that,” Klavier mused in retrospect.

Apollo stiffened a little, waving his hands in front of him. “Wait, wait. Vongole was Kristoph’s dog? The dog that was all over his office shelves? He named his beloved dog, the dog who he had like fifty pictures of in his office, Clams?”

“Ugh, ja, don’t even get me started. She deserved so much better. He kept talking about the refinement of Italy and the culture or something, I don't know.” Klavier began unlocking the door. “She’ll jump on me when I walk in. I’m not exactly stable, so… just be prepared to catch me, ja? Oh, and don’t be scared, even if she puffs up at you. She wouldn’t hurt a fly. On purpose.”

Herr Forehead mouthed “On purpose?” to himself as Klavier finally pushed open the door, making it about two steps inside before a very excited golden retriever barrelled at him at top speed.
“Vongole, a–oof, calm down, girl. Let’s meet someone, ja, Clams? Sich beruhigen, good girl.” Tail still going a mile a minute, Vongole sat, almost smiling at him. “Okay. I think you can come in now, Forehead.”

That was maybe a miscalculation on his part, because the moment Apollo stepped in the door behind him, Vongole unleashed a terrifying volley of barks, each one shooting an arrow of pain through his head. Apollo, the self-proclaimed cat person, yelped and hid behind Klavier, which would have been kind of cute if Klavier wasn’t reeling from the chaos. “C’mon, Clams, just sniff him,” he pleaded.

“Um,” Apollo finally piped up bravely, taking a step out. “She responds? To ‘Clams’?”

The ringing in Klavier’s ears dimmed somewhat. Somewhat proudly, he said, “Oh, ja, I did that. Kept calling her Clams whenever I visited her as a puppy, and now she knows that’s her.” Finally having enough, Vongole stalked forward hesitantly, her back fluffed up, and sniffed at Apollo’s shoes. She reeled back, but she had stopped barking, finally. He gave Apollo a wicked grin. “Kris hated me for that one.”

The aforementioned Clams had her head low, but her tail started to wag as Apollo crouched hesitantly on the ground, eagerly trotting forward to sniff at his hands now. “Oh, you smell Mikeko, huh? I bet. Aren’t you cute, Clams? You cute, Clams?” She began wagging harder at the nickname, snuffling at Apollo’s face now as he smiled, pushing her futilely back.

“Oh. Who is taking care of Mikeko?” asked Klavier, feeling like an ass for not remembering sooner. He couldn’t bring himself to blame it on the injury.

“Clay knows what to do. Mikeko can last twenty-four hours without me, I’m sure. He’s a scrappy cat.” The dog clearly didn’t like not being the center of attention; she began attacking him with kisses, and Apollo fended her off with his forearms, laughing.

Klavier racked his brain. He’d definitely heard the name once or twice. “Clay? He’s your friend, right?”

Apollo looked sort of embarrassed for whatever reason. “Ah, yeah, my best friend since middle school, and we’re roommates, too. I stayed with him and his dad through most of my childhood, even though they never officially fostered me.” His hand had flown to ruffle his own hair, and Vongole looked ecstatic to lick his now-exposed face. “Really, Mikeko is fine. He came from an alley, even if he’s gone soft now.”

“Well, as long as that’s taken care of. I think I need to drink myself silly now, my face hurts quite a lot.” Klavier made to stride purposefully to the kitchen, but he greatly misjudged the distance and nearly faceplanted when he took a large step up about five feet before the incline. Apollo luckily had had the foresight to bunch his fist in the back of Klavier’s jacket.

“You are not drinking anything but water until you can walk in a straight line. Go sit down on the couch and I’ll get you water and some painkillers. You’re supposed to rest right now,” Apollo stated firmly. His eyes bore intensely into Klavier’s face and he felt a little lightheaded.

Klavier grumbled and stalked the remaining few feet toward the couch, which lay on the raised area that comprised the den. He sat heavily, trying to look as petulant as possible, and immediately regretted it, his vision swirling as he hunched over his knees. Apollo appeared in front of him, looking unimpressed, his ruined sweatshirt slung over one of his shoulders and his gray t-shirt wrinkled.
“Guh. Point taken.”

“Where’s your kitchen? And your pills, and, like, everything else?”

“Through that door and straight on. You don’t suppose I could do crossfit?”

“No.”

Klavier was left alone for the most part, only occasionally being checked in on as the doctor had instructed. He had nowhere to put his usual anxious energy, so he took to tapping beats into the arm of the couch; finding himself too warm in his own home, he took off his blazer and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. Let it be known that I’m tasteful even in my own home, he mused, limiting himself to unbuttoning only one more button than usual.

Being concussed was, above all else, boring as all hell. Klavier quickly found that he couldn’t stare at his phone or the TV for very long, and much to his dismay, he was unable to hum or sing while playing his guitar; in fact, the loudness of his electric was far too harsh on his ringing ears, so he was forced to switch to acoustic. Without alcohol to occupy himself, he was bored out of his skull.

He was in one of the longer periods of concentration he could manage when he jumped, dropping the pencil he was holding, because Apollo was standing near the door in a much more relaxed posture than usual, a glass of water in his hand. Klavier had completely forgotten he was even in his home.

“Sorry, sorry. Whatever you were playing was just… nice. I forgot to say something,” Apollo said hurriedly, quickly darting over to place the glass of water and two more Ibuprofen on the end table. “I like the acoustic. It’s much less eardrum-blasting than your other stuff.”

Klavier picked the pencil back up and began twirling it between his fingers, placing the scrap of paper he was scribbling on off to the side. “Well, there’s a silver lining. My electric guitars are too loud for my poor, concussed head right now.”

Apollo considered that, leaning against the arm of a chair across from him. “I think it sounds better this way.” He was still wearing the crinkled shirt, but he’d dropped off the hoodie somewhere else. “You were playing that same part over and over,” he continued.

“Ja, I’m trying to write something, but I’m making slow progress. I can’t hum or sing; it hurts too much right now. It’s making the lyrics very difficult.” Vongole trotted into the room, snuffling his socked feet without much interest. Apparently she’d gotten used to Apollo’s presence already.

“Writing something, huh? No Gavinners involved?”

Vongole hopped up next to Klavier, circling and thumping down next to him. He removed his hand from the body of his guitar and stroked her long fur idly. “In case you forgot, I happened to be the frontman of the Gavinners, Forehead. I’d hardly call that Gavinner-less.”

Apollo rolled his eyes. “You know what I meant.”

“Ach, fine, it’s true. I don’t know if I’ll ever release my music again, and the Gavinners are done. But music is a part of me, and it feels like something’s missing when I don’t create it.” He gestured to the cushion on the other side of the dog, and Apollo took the invitation.

“It kind of seems like a shame, though. I mean, whatever you were playing just now was really pretty. You really aren’t gonna share that with anyone else?” Apollo was scratching Vongole’s ears, but he was looking at Klavier.

In response, Klavier’s chest clenched a little. “Well, maybe I’ll have to share it with someone else, if you think so.”

Vongole lifted her head, whistling a little whine and staring at Klavier. He broke eye contact and glanced out at the darkening sky. “Oh, you’re right, Clams. Dinnertime.” He breathed in, took the pills and downed the glass of water, and set the guitar gently aside as he stood up slowly.

“Ah, I can do it,” Apollo insisted, standing himself and letting the excited retriever get hair all over his jeans.

“Please, Forehead, the boredom of sitting on the couch without anything to do hurts far more than any concussion or fractured nose.” He started toward the kitchen, looking over his shoulder. “Also, Herr Cat Person, you have no idea what kind of beast this dog can turn into at dinnertime.” As if in response, the dog made a sound between a growl and a bark and wiggled at him, mouth open.

“Ja! It’s dinnertime, Vongole, ja!” Klavier crooned to her enthusiastically, striding to the wall and leaning on it as the dog rushed past him to the kitchen. Supporting himself with one hand, Klavier made his way through the door and opened the fridge, where one side was occupied by freshly-cut meats and vegetables. He took them out along with a cutting board and knife, and that was when Apollo put the kibosh on the operation.

“Uh, woah, you’re not using a knife right now. Why are you using a knife? I thought we were feeding the dog,” he said, instantly guiding his hand away from the cutting board.

Klavier looked at him, confused. “First of all, I’m a grown man, Herr Forehead. Second, Vongole gets fresh food. Did you really think Kristoph would feed her anything less?”

Apollo considered that, but didn’t take his hand off his wrist. “Okay. Sure. But I’m doing it, alright?”

“Fine. Vongole is going to jump on you, though.” Klavier stepped back and watched Apollo pick up the knife, his deft fingers chopping the meat and vegetables far quicker than Klavier had ever managed to. The height difference meant that he could see his friend’s horns bobbing with each swift motion of his arm. He kept a subtle foot pressed against Vongole’s chest to keep her from swarming Apollo.

It was pretty odd, seeing him like this. Admittedly, Klavier had never thought about Apollo doing most ordinary things–cooking, cleaning, taking care of a pet. He’d always been so far-off, a work associate that he spoke to occasionally outside and texted and flirted with like everyone else. This was so much more… domestic, for lack of a better word, than he had ever expected to see.

Clams’ dinner complete and on the floor, Apollo observed his handiwork. “Y’know, I feel kinda bad. All Miki gets is dry food most days, and sometimes that wet food from those cans as a treat.” He looked at Klavier, crumpling and unfurling a paper towel in his hands. “Wish I could afford to give him the fresh stuff every day, but Mr. Wright doesn’t exactly pay me much, so…” His face went red, like he realized what he’d said. “Ignore that.”

Klavier looked back at Vongole, working his tongue around his teeth as he thought. I could offer him money. I could ask him if he’s financially stable. I could tease him. “Okay,” he settled on.

Maybe a month ago he would have said something tone-deaf and driven Apollo away. Actually, scratch that, a month ago he would have never heard anything but a polite “Prosecutor Gavin” and a fumbled greeting from the defense attorney. So Klavier decided to count his blessings, note the discrepancy, and move on.

Dinner for the humans was takeout from a nearby Chinese place. Klavier found that the greasy sesame chicken and lo mein noodles were just what he needed to dull his headache enough to watch some TV. “Kind of like with a hangover,” he noted.

“The internet says that some exposure to screens and stimulation is fine. No movies or whatever though,” Apollo stated, scrolling on his phone, changed into a pair of Klavier’s shorts and a far-too-large Gavinners shirt (“Really? You seriously can’t spare any other T-shirts?”) (“The only others I own are much more garish than that one, Herr Forehead.”).

So it was that they were both seated on Klavier’s couch, Vongole taking up much more space than either of them, a trashy reality show playing on low volume. The popcorn bowl rested on the dog’s hip, which seemed incredibly precarious considering she was eyeing it wistfully and could decide to snap it up in an instant.

The show ended. The screen went dark, and neither of them felt like moving, so Klavier hit the play next button. Apollo didn’t protest. The empty popcorn bowl was discarded to an end table.

Three episodes later, Klavier let out a jaw-cracking yawn, and he felt his vision blurring. He was still wearing his pants and collared shirt, and he knew that his clothes were getting wrinkled. He didn’t care. A side-eyed glance at Apollo revealed an equally-tired face; even his horns seemed to droop with fatigue. He hit play on the next episode.

“Did you know,” Klavier began, “that von Karma wouldn’t tell me anything about the case or its details? I don’t think she thinks I can take it. Am I… am I so weak that I can’t even do my job now? What am I even… I mean, what… am I good for?”

Apollo didn’t reply immediately. “Do you really feel that way?” he asked at last.

Now it was Klavier’s turn to pause. “...I think so.”

“A lot. You’re good for a lot. At least, I think so. You’re pretty incredible, y’know? It’s hard for me to articulate, but… you really are.” Apollo was staring determinedly at Vongole as he scratched her neck. “I dunno. I see why you’re, like, focusing on your past, but… I’ll say you more than made up for it, and you were never even a bad person to begin with, I don’t think.”

Klavier stayed looking at the screen as a tear rolled down the other side of his face. “Ah.”

Neither one spoke again. Klavier lasted about five minutes into the show before giving into his exhaustion, feet propped up on an ottoman and one arm slung around Vongole’s softly breathing form.

Opening his eyes, Klavier’s first thought was, I forgot to draw the curtains. His second, My head hurts. Third, I’m on the couch, and finally, I’m not alone.

Taking up most of the couch’s surface area was Vongole, her legs splayed out comfortably, allowing Klavier to use her flank as a pillow. His wavy golden hair mingled with hers, practically indistinguishable. He lifted his fingers and began combing the hair above his head, allowing his eyes to drift lazily closed as he breathed deeply.

Smells like cheap shampoo.

Cheap shampoo?

If there was one thing Klavier was proud of, it was the damn good job he did of taking care of his hair. His shampoos and conditioners were the type that could only be bought through a monthly subscription, and he had a twelve-step hair-care process that he never missed a day on. Naturally, he was ruled out.

Vongole, most days, smelled like nothing. Perhaps a little like dog, if you really pressed your face into her fur, but she was bathed regularly–bi-weekly, in fact. It happened to be about at that two-week mark, so no traces of her shampoo could be detected at this point. It couldn’t be the retriever, then.

So… what?

Gingerly, Klavier picked up his throbbing head, his eyes blearing with sleep and the dry contacts he’d left in overnight. They hurt, so he used his left hand to remove them and wipe them onto the arm of the couch. This also had the effect of making his vision exceptionally blurry. Gott, were his eyes almost as bad as Kris’s now?

His right hand rested on top of a golden lump, which was obviously Vongole, and his fingers were threaded through… something brown.

Not Vongole.

Realization barrelled into his chest like a rogue baseball pitch. Klavier snatched his hand back, bolting upright in panic. Shit, fuck, okay, that was happening just now. He held his hand in front of his face, feeling the phantom sensation of the slightly-coarse hair between his fingers. Jesus.

Klavier felt his head heat behind his eyes when Apollo made a small sound and stirred on Vongole’s other side. He lifted his head from her side, blinking blearily as though he couldn’t tell where he was. “Huh,” he croaked, swallowing a few times. His hair was incredibly mussed, bangs hanging in front of his face, for once covering his impressive forehead.

Heart beating rapidly, Klavier took a deep breath and willed his voice steady with the authority of years of training. “Guten morgen, Herr Forehead,” he tried with a chipper note, an effect that was diminished through his sandpaper mouth.

Apollo’s head snapped his way. “Wha–oh. Prosecutor Gavin.” Klavier could almost maybe see realization light his eyes, except he couldn’t see much of anything at all. “We fell asleep on the couch.”

“What impressive deductive reasoning,” Klavier commented. Internally, he chanted his praises that he’d realized his own blunder before the defense attorney had woken up. “Would you mind finding my glasses, bitte, Forehead? I can’t see anything at the moment. They should be on my bedside table.”

“Uh? Oh, uh, I guess so. Yeah.” Apollo sprung up and padded out of the room, and Klavier sagged against the couch cushions with a deflating sigh. Vongole looked up at him, the pink underside of one of her ears showing.

“Ja, ja. Geh nach draußen."

Standing in the doorway in his wrinkled shirt, holding the dog’s leash as he let her out, Klavier didn’t notice Apollo come up behind him and tap him somewhere near his shoulder blade. He jumped.

Apollo held up his hands placatingly. “Sorry, sorry. Here’s your glasses.” He tucked them into Klavier’s hand and backed up a few paces. Klavier noticed he was wearing yesterday’s clothes again.

“Ah, danke Schoen,” Klavier said as the world came into focus again. His nose hurt, but Klavier wasn’t going to say anything in front of him. He told Apollo where the coffee was when he asked, and he returned his attention to Vongole as she finished up her morning survey of his yard. The dog trotted inside, and just as he was about to shut the door, a semi-familiar beater swung into his driveway and sputtered to a halt.

Klavier stood in the doorway with one arm holding the other side of the frame, one foot crossed over the other. “Fräulein Detective,” he greeted her, smiling broadly before wincing at the fresh, throbbing pain in his face.

Ema eyed him up and down appraisingly. “What happened to you, Fop? Rattle the headboard a little too hard last night?” she deadpanned, producing a bag of her signature Snackoos from the satchel on her hip (The one with the chemicals again, Klavier noted with some wonder).

“Why? Were you interested?” he replied easily, trying again to grin widely, waggling his eyebrows. “You only need ask, Fräulein, you know that.”

“Fuck off, Fop. We all know you have it bad for Apollo,” Ema shot back, lobbing a Snackoo at his face. “Whatever. I don’t care. I’m only here because Mr. Edgeworth asked me to be. I guess Apollo told Mr. Wright about something that happened, and Mr. Wright told Mr. Edgeworth, and then he gave me the order, but somehow I still don’t know why I’m here, except to give you these.” She thrust a manila folder packed with papers in his hands and began to turn away. “Also, you look awful. Have a bad day.”

“A delight as always,” Klavier called, and Ema’s retreating form whipped around to flip him the bird–-only to do a double take and scuff her feet as she abruptly stopped.

“Hey Klavier, I made you a cup, I think the caffeine will help with your head–” Klavier turned his head and found Apollo holding two mugs, staring with eyes as wide as plates directly at Ema, whose face was now contorting into what could only be described as malicious delight.

She burst into laughter. “Holy shit. Oh my god. I was joking, but I might be some kind of medium.” Ema wiped at her eyes with a more joyous expression than Klavier thought possible from her.

Apollo’s face was lobster-red. He glanced down at his disheveled clothes, back at Ema, and then shoved a mug into Klavier’s hand and made his retreat. Klavier looked at Ema pleadingly. “Fräulein, please, it’s really not like that. I got a concussion, and Herr Forehe–”

“Nope, no, shut up, this is too funny for you to ruin with whatever you’re about to say,” Ema interrupted, waving one hand behind her as she resumed her walk toward her beat-up white car. “I thought you’d be all bragging about how you finally scored or some shit, but if you’re actually trying to clear the air, it either means nothing happened or you’re really in love with him, and I don’t wanna know.” She sat down and slammed the door, peeling out of his driveway with a screech of tires.

Klavier tilted his head up and let out a long, frustrated noise. This probably set his and Apollo’s relationship back about two weeks, at least. His nose throbbed painfully, and he swept a hand through his hair. Ema’s words kept ringing in his head. It either means nothing happened or you’re really in love with him, and I don’t wanna know.

It either means nothing happened or you’re really in love with him.

Or you’re really in love with him.

In love with him.

With Apollo? Ridiculous. He barely knew the guy in the grand scheme of things. Klavier lifted the mug to his lips, taking a long, thoughtful sip. It was black, with just a little sugar in it.

His chest warmed. He sure remembered that, though, huh.

Chapter Text

Klavier’s nose was healing pretty well, if he did say so himself.

The splint was removed, and while it still looked a little swollen, and perhaps the perfect symmetry was disturbed, his face’s appearance was mostly back to normal. Maybe even better, since he didn’t see Kris as often when he looked in the mirror anymore.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled through his contacts, opening his message history with Ema for probably the tenth time that week.

Thursday, October 22, 2026
1:11 PM Me: fraulein, please let me explain. i dont want you to get the wrong idea, apollo would hate me so much and its unfair to him
1:11 PM Me: apollo got distracted and wrecked his bike, and i tried to help, but we both fell and i hit my head on the ground and broke my nose and got a concussion
1:12 PM Me: i know you hate me but dont give him a hard time bitte

3:44 PM Fraulein Detective: look fop i dont give a shit, you can sleep with him if you want, and apollo goes through enough without everyone knowing he fucked you of all people.
3:44 PM Fraulein Detective: plus i have the leverage here and im not gving it up as a favor to you
3:45 PM Fraulein Detective: dont text me again unless its for work thanks
3:46 PM Me: ema please we didnt sleep togehter i promise. Dont think that way herr forehead will kill me
4:10 PM Fraulein Detective: for the love of god please stop fucking texting me i do not care. youre down so bad for him its sickening. let it go. he deserves so much better than you honestly
4:11 PM Me: im not but ok as long as you wont give him grief for being a good friend
Read October 22, 2026 4:24 PM

Klavier ran a hand over his face. It was October 29, and once he’d assured Apollo that he’d cleared up the misunderstanding, they hadn’t spoken of the incident again. Still, Klavier could hear Ema’s voice in his head on loop. It was like a skipping record–Or you’re really in love with him. Really in love with him. Really in love. In love with him–and it had been cycling through his head practically nonstop for the past week.

He continued to be an excellent actor, and he was even getting better at telling white lies in Apollo’s presence, which he wasn’t actually particularly happy about. They’d been hanging out as usual, grabbing lunch or lounging at his house pretty much every day. And all the time, Klavier was turning the gears in his head, even when he didn’t realize it.

The first time Apollo visited Klavier’s house, while he was concussed, was like popping the lid off a bottle. Now Apollo really didn’t seem to mind being in his space, though of course he kept his respectful distance–the distance one friend would keep from another while in their home. They were watching a movie a couple nights ago while sharing the couch with Vongole, and Apollo’s eyes were just so focused, so intensely absorbed by the screen, Klavier couldn’t help but stare. Those eyes were piercing before, when he’d seen the picture of him in the article, but now they felt like something more. The way he felt about Apollo’s eyes could only be likened to reverence. Their stark brown seemed to shimmer in the light, become dark as coffee in the dim living room, reflecting the pictures on the screen. He loved how they dialed in when he really focused, how they widened in surprise or snarkiness, how they crinkled whenever he revealed his rare, wonderful laugh. How his irises seemed to be swallowed by his pupils sometimes in court, right before catching a witness in the act of lying.

There’s one thing to check off the list-–he definitely loved Apollo’s eyes. Noted.

Klavier’s eyes were back on the screen before his friend could realize he was being looked at.

Yesterday, while they were eating lunch, they sat on a park bench and talked. He took note of Apollo’s voice. It was a pleasant tenor, slightly raspy, and, of course, loud. He’d never heard someone with such an impressive voice. Klavier thought offhandedly that Apollo could probably make the world’s greatest metal singer if he were inclined toward that type of music. Kind of a waste, honestly. He’d have loved to collaborate.

Right. He loved Apollo’s voice-–check.

Apollo had just shoved a fry in his mouth, rambling about something that bothered him (again), when he checked his phone as it dinged. And he laughed. He laughed, a snorting, choking laugh at first, and then a hearty and full laugh that rang out loudly. Klavier couldn’t look away. He didn’t even know what he was laughing about. It didn’t matter.

Check–-he loved Apollo’s laugh. Fuck, he loved Apollo’s laugh. He wanted to make Apollo laugh like that. And he was also getting better at that. His typically off-color humor was shifting in his friend’s presence.

Now he was laying on his bed, hair down and splayed out behind his head, legs handing over the end. Vongole laid on his feet, dozing. And he thought again about what Ema said; damn you, Ema Skye, you cut deep.

Was he in love with Apollo Justice? If you asked him right then, he’d be more inclined to say no than yes. He thought he might have been in love before, and the way he felt about Apollo was completely new and different from anything–-it was, in a word, unprecedented.

Trying something easier, then: was he attracted to Apollo Justice? Too easy, really. The answer was yes, plain and clear. He wasn’t bad-looking, certainly, but something in the way he was, the way he existed, was so incredibly attractive that Klavier couldn’t help but look at him (shamelessly, honestly. For someone so perceptive, Apollo could not notice Klavier’s eyes on him) any chance he got.

Okay. So, next: did he want to kiss Apollo Justice? If you held him at gunpoint and made him answer right away, he’d say yes, definitely. Probably without hesitation. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t imagined it, no matter how much Apollo would flush and protest and push him away if he knew. He was only a man.

Next, would he want to date Apollo Justice? This gave him pause. He could answer angstily and say that he couldn’t dare ruin what they had, but that would be a lie. Frankly, he’d tried to take him on dates for a reason, and the answer was definitely yes. Yes, he would love to be Apollo’s boyfriend, if he let him.

Klavier himself even shied away from pondering the other aspects of “love” that his friend would blanch at. He’d never make him truly uncomfortable, and keeping secrets from Apollo really wasn’t in his best interest right now. This left him alone with the question of the hour once again. What did he get out of his methodical approach?

…He didn’t know.

Klavier huffed frustratedly and swung his legs back onto the bed, earning a protest from a sleeping Vongole. He’d sleep on it. Again. It’d come to him eventually. Maybe.
Just after he buried his face in his pillow, his phone dinged and he fumbled on his side to pick it up. Gazing at the too-bright screen with one eye, he saw that it was none other than Apollo.

11:29 PM Herr Forehead: Hey, Trucy is setting up a Halloween party at the WAA if ur interested in coming. She specifically requested that I ask you. Even tho she has ur number.
11:30 PM Me: well that depends herr Forehead will there be costumes and will you be wearing one
11:30 PM Herr Forehead: Okay, think for a moment about this. Would ANY party organized by Trucy Wright NOT involve costumes
11:30 PM Herr Forehead: Aside from that, yeah whatever, she’ll probably make me wear something. But you know I don't want to. And I might get out of it.
11:31 PM Me: noooo forehead you have to wear a costume or im not coming
11:31 PM Me: can we match?? bitte if i promise to make it so its not too much

Herr Forehead is typing…
…

11:33 PM Herr Forehead: You have to clear it with me first. No tricks Gavin
11:33 PM Me: yesssssss!!!!

Klavier kicked his legs in the air like a giddy schoolboy and put his phone on the charger, smiling broadly into his pillow and brainstorming ideas.

-

“I thought if it was a real person I was dressing up as, it wouldn’t be so bad,” grumbled Apollo, holding up the leather jacket Klavier had procured for him and regarding it with disdain.

“I let you be Sid,” Klavier replied without looking away from the mirror where he was applying eyeliner with practiced precision. “You agreed to it, Forehead, it’s too late to change your mind now.”

Apollo glared into the reflection behind him, his damp hair falling into his eyes. “Don’t act like you didn’t want to be Nancy.”

“With beautiful golden locks such as these, it would be a shame to waste the opportunity,” he fired back, clipping one long, dangling earring to his right ear. “Wunderbar. Now, Forehead, time to do your hair.”

His friend backed up, a flash of genuine fear crossing his face. “Oh no. You’re going to mess up my hair.”

Klavier rolled his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic. I’ll be using no more hair gel than you normally do for your… everyday hairstyle.”

Apollo frowned deeply. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Nothing.” Klavier dragged Apollo by the wrist to the seat he’d been occupying in front of the mirror and sat him down with his hands on his shoulders. “Sit still. If you behave it won’t take more than a few minutes, ja?”

“I’m not a child,” he huffed, crossing his arms and slumping down in the chair, looking very much like a child.

“Of course not. A child would complain.” Klavier grabbed a freshly-purchased jar of hair product and slathered a healthy amount onto his fingers, drawing his eyebrows close in concentration. This kind of hairstyle would be difficult to pull off with Apollo’s hair, and perhaps might even look more convincing with his signature horns intact, but he couldn’t bring himself to brush the bangs out of his friend’s eyes. So, he conceded to run his fingers through Apollo’s hair on either side, spiking it up in all directions, touching up the front carefully. He stepped back, admiring his handiwork. “Not bad, wouldn’t you agree?”

Apollo squinted at his reflection. “I look like I came from some alternate universe,” he scoffed.

“You’ll look better once I do your makeup,” Klavier said excitedly, clapping his hands together. His friend’s neutral face immediately contorted into one of panic.

“What? You never said anything about makeup. Please don’t put makeup on me,” he pleaded.

“I wear makeup almost every day, Forehead, I think you’ll survive a little eyeshadow for one night.”

With costumes complete, the two rode in Klavier’s car to the building containing the Wright Anything Agency, where they could see through the window orange lights and bat streamers. “Looks cute,” Klaiver commented as they pulled into the lot.

“She was running around all day while I was trying to do some work. You have no idea how much stuff she has in store for Halloween.”

The music that had been muffled through the door boomed with clarity as they turned the knob. I think Herr Wright will be facing a noise complaint, he thought, his eyes flicking from the large speakers decorated like candy corn to the small TV playing something that Klavier thought might be Scooby Doo.

Trucy bounced up to them, her usual hat and cape exchanged for new, bright white ones adorned with bunny ears and a tail. “Prosecutor Gavin! Polly! You’re here!” she exclaimed, sweeping her hat off her head and revealing that it was filled to the brim with candy.

“No thanks,” Apollo said glumly, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck before whacking himself in the shoulder with the prop handcuffs that were attached to his right wrist.

Trucy shrugged and flipped her hat upside down before placing it back on her head. “So, what are you supposed to be? Rockstars? Klavier already is one of those.”

Klavier flung his arm around Apollo’s shoulders. “Nein, Fräulein, not just rockstars. We’re Sid and Nancy!”

The girl tipped her head thoughtfully. “Who?”

Klavier clutched at his chest. “Fräulein, don’t tell me you don’t know the Sex Pistols?”

“The what?”

“They were a British punk group back before Mr. Wright was even born, really influential in the music scene. Sid Vicious was the second bassist, and he and his girlfriend Nancy Spungen were notorious. They pretty much changed the trajectory of rock music,” Apollo rattled off, and they both looked at him. “What? Just because I don’t listen to that kind of thing doesn’t mean I don’t know the history of music. They were a big deal.”

“Oh God damn it. Why are you here?” Ema growled, stalking up to them in her usual white coat and the addition of a stethoscope around her neck.

Klavier flipped his carefully curled hair over his shoulder. “Fräulein Wright invited me, naturally. We’re best friends, didn’t you know, Doctor Skye?”

Trucy smiled. “It’s true, Miss Skye!”

Ema rolled her eyes and flipped the bird at him behind Trucy’s back, beginning to occupy the snack table. Pretty typical.

Trucy grabbed both their wrists and dragged them into the main room, which was decorated to the nines with Halloween paraphernalia; Herr Forehead wasn’t lying, Trucy’s stock was impressive. Pumpkins carved with silly and spooky faces were littered on bat-themed tablecloths, candy-corn lights strung from the ceiling with surprising precision. The lights were dimmed and orange, bowls of candy emitted smoke of different colors, and he looked over the number of special effects appreciatively.

“Is that… Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth?” Apollo said loudly beside him, making Klavier jump.

“What?”

Klavier followed his gaze to where, to his unending surprise, Edgeworth stood speaking with a large, scruffy-looking man wearing a ragged green trench coat. Even more surprisingly, his boss wore a headband affixed with… were those cat ears?

“I need to know,” Apollo muttered. “I know that if I mention it, I’ll probably face hell in court, but I need to know.”

“Gleichfalls.”

The pair made their way toward the two men, the larger of which saluted at Edgeworth dutifully as they approached. “Yes, sir! Thank you so much, sir!” he barked, and then turned his bulk around, bumping directly into Apollo. “Oh! Sorry about that, pal!”

Apollo sat up from where he’d fallen on the floor, rubbing his shoulder. “Um. No problem.”

Klavier greeted the man. “Hallo, Herr Trenchcoat. Do you know the chief?” he asked curiously, wondering how the two could possibly have met.

The burly man saluted him, too. “You bet, pal! Mr. Edgeworth and I used to work together all the time back when he was a young prosecutor! I met ‘im the first case he ever worked on!” he said proudly, thumping his chest. “Uhh, ‘sides that he didn’t actually end up prosecuting that one. You’re Prosecutor Gavin, right?”

Herr Edgeworth stepped in, clearing his throat and adjusting his glasses to hide his blush. “Yes, yes, Detective. And Gavin, I’m surprised to see you here,” he commented. “This is my former investigative partner, Detective Gumshoe. Perhaps you’ve met?”

Klavier couldn’t keep his eyes from flicking up to the cat ears, but he quickly looked away, studying the detective again. Now that he looked, he recognized not only the scraggly coat, but also the scruffy beard and blocky build. There was gray sprinkling his hair now, but Klavier could definitely tell they’d worked together before. “That’s right! Herr Trenchcoat worked on that case back when I was seventee–” He clamped his jaw shut, realizing what he was saying.

Gumshoe scratched behind his head self-consciously. “Oh yeah. I remember now.”

Someone broke the tension, backing out of the doorway of what looked like a bathroom, carrying several rolls of toilet paper. “Sorry, sorry, coming through,” Wright said, bumping into Gumshoe’s back. “Edgeworth, could you get my ears? They fell off when I opened the door back there.”

Edgeworth sighed, adjusting his glasses again, and his hand glinted under the orange lights. “You’re truly hopeless, Wright.”

It took another look at him before Klavier understood what that meant. Wright had grown out his stubble again, his hair rumpled and spiky, wearing a ripped flannel shirt over a crinkled white tee. When Edgeworth returned with two black, fluffy ears, placing them on either side of Wright’s expectant head, Klavier got it.

“Ah! A werewolf.”

Wright gave him a pointy-toothed grin. “That’s Wright, Gavin!” he said, and Trucy booed at him from across the room. He deposited the rolls of toilet paper on a chair in the main room and cracked his back, accepting a plastic cup from Edgeworth and taking a long gulp. “Thanks, B–Edgeworth.”

Klavier tilted his head, but before he could ask either of his questions an excited squeal sounded from the adjoining hallway. “Tante Franzy! Auntie Maya!” Trucy gushed, and Klavier heard twin oofs from the same direction.

“Trucy! How’s my favorite magical girl?” said an unfamiliar voice.

“I missed you so much, Auntie Maya! I didn’t know you could get the time off from your Master training!” Trucy squealed. Klavier looked over, and she had her arms around the neck of a girl in robes and an updo adorned with beads.

“You’ve gotten so big, Truce! Franzy wasn’t lying. You grew up so fast, little lady,” ‘Maya’ cooed, reciprocating the hug and lifting Trucy up by about half an inch despite them being nearly the same size.

“This is true. My favorite niece continues to impress me,” said the normally cold, calculated voice of Franziska von Karma, now filled with an uncharacteristic warmth. She wore only a brimmed hat on her head. This was incredibly bizarre to Klavier, and, glancing over to Apollo, he clearly thought the same.

Wright’s face lit up with glee. “Maya!” he shouted, throwing his now-empty cup down and rushing over to his friend.

“Nick!” yelled Maya, meeting him in the middle and crashing into him. “It’s been a while! Why didn’t you tell me you were getting your badge back?!” she demanded, giving Wright a shove.

“Well, I wanted to tell you in person, but you never told me you were coming, you jackass,” Wright laughed, shoving her back. “Hey Edgeworth, come say hi!”

The names rang a vague bell in Klavier’s mind, but he couldn’t quite place how they all fit together. Next to him, Apollo was mumbling, “Maya… Maya… Maya…” like he was trying to do the same.

Ema sidled up to them, her hatred seemingly forgotten. “...What am I missing?” she whispered. “Mr. Wright, Mr. Edgeworth, Ms. von Karma, Trucy, and… Maya Fey?”

“Maya Fey!” Apollo said loudly in recognition, drawing the attention of everyone else in the room.

“Yeah, Auntie Maya!” piped up Trucy, startling all three of them. She giggled. “Didn’t you know who she was?”

“She’s only the co-counsel for, like, eighty percent of Mr. Wright’s most famous trials!” said Apollo emphatically, his hands gripped at his sides in excitement. “Can you imagine being on the ground floor for such momentous times, such incredible moments in the history of the legal system?”

“Yeah, it was wild,” agreed Maya, appearing next to them and ruffling Trucy’s hair, dragging von Karma over as well with their linked arms. “Like, I’m no lawyer, but it was absolutely bonkers sometimes. Just totally nutty. Some insane shit. Sorry, Truce.” Trucy stuck her tongue out at her.

“Herr Forehead, we were the practicing attorneys for the jurist trial,” Klavier reminded him.

Maya suddenly leaned in, tilting her head to the side and cocking a brow. “Oh, that was you guys?” she said conspiratorially. “So you’re the next generation’s Nick and Edgeworth?”

Von Karma sniffed. “If you’re anything like my foolish brother and his foolish defense attorney, I fear for the future of our legal system.”

“Hey now, Franziska, be nice to my poor employee and his prosecutor,” Wright called from across the room, where he and Edgeworth were talking quietly.

“He is not my prosecutor,” grumbled Apollo. “Where do you even get that?”

Trucy looped her arm around his. “Obviously he is, Polly. Don’t you know how it works with paired defense attorneys and prosecutors?”

“...What?”

Maya reached up to pat his head. “You’ll understand one day, Polly.”

“...What?”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t understand either,” Klavier whispered to him.

“Why’s she calling me Polly now?” Grumbled Apollo.

Trucy clapped her hands loudly. “Okay everybody! We’re going to play Mummy Race!” she exclaimed, her voice amplified through the room. “We need two people who are about the same size for each team to wrap. Who’s the lucky duo?”

Maya bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. “Oh! Oh! I vote Nick and Edgeworth!”

Franziska tipped her hat back with her thumb. “I concur. As usual, Maya Fey is correct.”

Edgeworth scowled deeply, the effect diminished by his cat ears. “Absolutely not.”

“C’mooooon, Edgeworth, don’t be a spoilsport,” Wright chided, nudging him with an elbow and picking up a roll of toilet paper from the chair. “You’re gonna make Truce all sad.”

“Daddy’s right. Pleeeease?”

“Trucy…” Edgeworth’s demeanor changed under the intense puppy-dog stare of the young magician, and he pushed his glasses up with two fingers. “...Fine.”

What?! The power of that girl...

Wright whooped and tugged Edgeworth toward the center of the room by the hand, draining the rest of his drink as he did so. Edgeworth had his other hand splayed over his face like an instinctive response.

“I will not be participating. Like in all things, I will play the part of Lady Justice, and the losers will feel my whip,” von Karma stated, taking a seat with legs crossed. “Also, there are uneven numbers.” Of course she’d take the opportunity to get out of it.

Weird family.

Everyone acted as if this was completely normal, and it occurred to Klavier that his experience in dealing with the intimidating woman was sorely lacking in comparison to more or less everyone else here. “Okay, Tante Franzy! Now, teams!” chirped Trucy as she herded the two men over to a cleared-out space. “Polly! Prosecutor Gavin! Gummy! You’re on team Wright!”

“Couldn’t you have just broken us up by organization?” said Apollo, raising an eyebrow. “Me, you, Maya for the Agency, Detective Gumshoe, Klavier, Ema for the Prosecutors’ Office?”

Trucy looked up at him, unimpressed. “No. Aunt Maya, Ema, you’re team Edgeworth with me!”

“Yes, ma’am!” affirmed Maya, saluting Trucy with vigor. Well, at least two people are excited about this.

Once the two men were dutifully stationed (at Trucy’s meticulous instruction) and the players given rolls, the game commenced.

Gumshoe, who Klavier only knew in passing, looked utterly baffled. “Uh, what’re we s’posed to do, pal?” he asked, ducking comically low to talk close to Apollo’s ear.

“This, I guess?” Apollo replied, equally unsure, crouching to begin on Wright’s feet. “Kinda cathartic, honestly.”

“I’m able to hear you, Apollo,” Wright said cheerfully.

“Yeah. I know.”

The room soon devolved into chaos of the highest order, Trucy and Maya tossing rolls of toilet paper to each other over Edgeworth’s head like they were TP’ing the house of a member of the high school football team. Ema had commandeered a not-insignificant portion of the snack table and stood back, allowing her teammates to do the work.

For Apollo and Klavier’s part, simply keeping Gumshoe from knocking things over kept them mostly occupied. The scrunched-up concentration of Apollo’s face was awfully distracting, too, though even without that he was sure they’d lose. There was no getting between Trucy Wright and a party game victory, a trait that seemed to go double for Maya Fey.

Edgeworth’s mummified form was rigid and radiated with displeasure, yet not a protest crossed his lips. Klavier found himself admiring his boss quite a lot. That was, until the time when the door slammed open and a raven-haired woman with a high ponytail and a scarf gleaming with a golden pin stood, foot raised. At that point, Edgeworth began spouting off curses in a way much unbefitting of the Chief Prosecutor.

“Mr. Edgewoooooorth!” cried the woman, rushing forward before stopping, confused. “What’re you doing in there?”

Ema looked genuinely happy for maybe the first time Klavier had ever seen. “Kay! We’re doing a Trucy party game, so, y’know.”

‘Kay’ turned to her and instantly brightened up. “BABE!” she shouted, launching herself into Ema’s arms. Ohh. A lot of things make more sense now.

Wright, whose face was still uncovered, looked mildly bemused. “Hey, Kay, thought you weren’t coming. Also, why’d you kick my door down?”

Still hugging Ema, Kay turned to him. “Yeah, ‘cause you got room to talk, Mr. I-Kick-Down-Every-Door-In-My-Way. I got done early, left Sebastian in charge of the paperwork. And, to actually answer your question, Mr. Wright, Miley over there told me to stop breaking in through the window, so.”

Edgeworth unraveled his face. “Kay, I hesitate to call you an adult, but considering the fact that you are twenty-four years old, I think you should know that breaking down a door is no better than climbing through a window, regardless of how happily Wright took the opportunity to in the past,” he sighed.

“Hey.”

Apollo was backing up a few steps, so Klavier followed him, taking a seat next to him on the couch. His hair was already starting to droop again. “I take it you’re lost, too?”

“Uh-huh. Who knew Trucy had so many friends?” Apollo replied, watching the chaos with a hand on his face. “Actually, scratch that. Her having a ton of friends makes sense. Why does she have so many aunts and uncles is what I should be asking.”

“I feel the same way, considering Herr Wright is an only child to my knowledge.”

Apollo grimaced. “Sorry to bring it up, but it’s topical. So, remember what Kristoph said back in the detention center? Something about ‘his sisters, the Feys’? I think I’m starting to understand that.”

Klavier laughed, remembering. “Oh, you’re right. I was too caught up in hating Kris, I didn’t even notice. No wonder.”

The two of them chuckled lightly, content to watch everyone interact, bantering over Ema’s apparent girlfriend and Wright and Edgeworth and everything that had happened that night, the game (and, apparently, von Karma’s whip-threat) forgotten. Klavier found himself remembering his younger days in the band, tearing up venues and being the life of the party, and thought that this might be much more fun. He didn’t even feel the need to drink.

At one point, Apollo doubled over in laughter, grabbing Klavier’s arm, and he became even more glad that he wasn’t drunk. All he could do was smile dopily as mirthful tears sprung to the edges of Apollo’s eyes.

You certainly could’ve picked a worse one, Klavier.