Lightswitch - Klavier Gavin
Title: Lightswitch
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3757
Characters: Klavier Gavin-centric; also involving Kristoph Gavin, Apollo Justice and Daryan Crescend.
Warnings: Spoilers for Apollo Justice/Gyakuten Saiban 4; some language and imagery; pre-fic character death.
He's taken to sleeping with the lights on, every single bulb on the upper floor illuminating the hallways, keeping the bedrooms lit. One of those bedrooms had been the guest room once, though Kristoph had slept there a few times - sometimes on his own, but usually only on those rare nights when Klavier could get Kristoph to drink, to loosen up a bit. Kristoph refused to drive home afterwards and they stayed up late into the night, talking like they had when they were still young and dumb and Kristoph's hands hadn't been completely covered in blood.
But that had been months ago; the room isn't even a guest room anymore, and Klavier doesn't sleep.
The ceiling light shines in his face; it's annoying, but it's harder to deal with everything in the dark, and so he lies facedown, his face buried in too many pillows. It's too warm for the blanket, which lies discarded on the ground; though part of him wonders why he even keeps the blanket in here anymore, he never moves it elsewhere.
After about an hour of fooling himself, Klavier flops over onto his back; he opens his eyes, glancing toward the doorway.
Kristoph is standing near the doorframe; his expression is passive, but his eyes are cold. Angry.
He turns his head slightly to watch as Klavier stands up and moves toward the vanity across the room. Klavier shakes his head, continuing to look in the mirror as he grabs a brush and begins yanking it through his hair. He can still see his older brother behind him, though he tries to ignore the dark ligature marks that are visible just above Kristoph's collar as he shifts. The deepest mark, black with bruising just behind and underneath Kristoph's left ear, still shows despite the coiled braid that rests across Kristoph's shoulder. Klavier has come to hate those marks; he hadn't seen them in person, but it turned out that it didn't really matter.
Klavier rakes his fingers through his hair roughly, shaking his head as he does so, before he begins another round with the brush. He keeps his eyes on the mirror, speaking only to his brother's reflection. "Go away, Kristoph."
Kristoph never answers; Klavier doesn't know what will happen on the day that he does.
"I said, 'Go away.'"
He continues to keep his eyes on the mirror, glaring darkly at it until he finishes one hundred strokes with the brush; Kristoph's expression never flickers away from quiet rage.
When Klavier turns around, he finds himself alone.
He doesn't remember when it started, though he remembers that the dreams came first. Even though Klavier remembers the endings clearly, they don't make much sense; they usually disobey most logical rules, as dreams often do, with several skips and jumps where it feels like something should have happened but somehow, whatever it was doesn't matter.
It never matters how it starts; often, it's a perfectly normal dream, ending in Klavier standing backstage at a darkened concert venue, preparing for a show. He doesn't know when he moves from tuning his guitar to standing in the back of the auditorium, but he finds himself watching the lights come up on his brother, standing center stage and playing that violin that Klavier had always hated. He's alone, playing something strange and slow, and no matter how many times the dream happens, Klavier never recognizes it right away. The title of the piece comes to him a second later, after he figures out that the tempo has been slowed down to a dirge, a grotesque mockery of what it had been - and as soon as the words "Atroquinine, My Love" cross his mind, the fire starts.
And even though he's a good distance away, Klavier can see the bruising and sharp lacerations blossoming on his brother's neck as he pulls the violin away.
He always jolts himself awake before the flames completely consume the stage, and tries not to contemplate why Kristoph never screams as he burns; instead, he laughs.
It's a harsh, uncontrolled sound that stays with Klavier for far too long; it makes him think of a story he's heard, an urban legend dealing with a certain song that, when heard too much, drives the listener insane.
Court is difficult, but Klavier had seen that coming from a mile away. He's never sure if he's seeing things or not; he closes his eyes for a moment at various points during the witnesses' testimony and runs a few lyrics through his head - "Guilty Love," more often than not - and then he can continue with his day.
Apollo corners him afterwards, in the library underneath the courtroom; it's easier to ignore things there, but Apollo plainly does not want to be ignored.
"Prosecutor Gavin...can I have a word with you?"
Klavier turns, smiling at him. "Do you need some sort of help, Herr Forehead?"
Apollo glances away for a second, then resumes eye contact. "I was just wondering...um, well. Have you been okay?"
Klavier rakes a hand through his bangs, toying with a lock of his hair as he answers. "Of course. Don't concern yourself with me, hm? Just worry about the trial tomorrow."
Apollo doesn't look convinced. "You seem a little...tired, lately. Are you having a hard time sleeping?"
"The Gavinners might not be together anymore," Klavier says, the smile twisting into something closer to a smirk before he realizes it, "but I still get bitten by creativity once in a while. Creative types work best at night; everyone knows th - "
His voice cracks for a second; the slight motion to his left is immediately dismissed as nothing when his eyes dart in that direction and everything is still. Klavier clears his throat and continues. "Everyone knows that, ja?"
By this time, Apollo has taken to staring, looking at him with such intensity that it's difficult for Klavier to maintain the appearances he's managed to hold onto so far. "Honestly, Herr Forehead," he says quickly, "if I didn't know any better, I would say that you're wishing for some sort of reunion tour." He reaches out and ruffles Apollo's hair, as much to get a rise out of him as to make him stop staring.
Apollo makes an odd noise in protest, somewhere between a growl and a whine, and Klavier smirks in spite of himself as Apollo stumbles backwards, smoothing out the section of hair that Klavier had mussed up. "Okay, okay, you win! Just...try to get some sleep..."
"I'll see what I can do."
Apollo nods, then turns to go. "Have a good evening, all right?"
"I'll do that...and thanks for worrying, Herr Forehead."
Apollo hesitates as he very obviously tries to figure out what he should do with that. He ends up calling a very unsure-sounding "Um, you're welcome" over his shoulder before he goes, disappearing through the library doors and up the stairs.
Klavier turns back to the shelves, trying to ignore the fact that Kristoph is near the door, where he's been watching the exchange with his arms folded across his chest and disapproval in his eyes.
A few hours later, Klavier walks up the steps of the large business complex that had previously housed the former Gavin Law Offices; he's avoided this place for so long, if for no better reason than he can't shake the feeling that Kristoph would disapprove of Klavier entering it alone without his explicit permission.
He had retrieved the keys from Detective Skye, who had seemed rather grudging about the whole business, but at the very least she seemed to acknowledge that a few things needed to be done and had eventually handed them over. Kristoph had overseen the entire transaction, staring at Klavier with his head angled back slightly and a displeased expression that was nearly as dark as the damaged skin on his neck; Klavier spent the majority of the discussion trying not to look at him, killing his own point repeatedly and throwing around so many uses of the word "Fraulein" to cover it that Detective Skye told him that he should probably get more sleep before coming to talk to her. When she was done giving him instructions - namely "bring that right back, as it's police property" and "don't tell anyone, or it's my neck" - she had wandered off, muttering something about former rock stars and liberal usages of illegal substances.
The office is more or less in order when Klavier arrives; there's a layer of dust on everything, but in general, everything is exactly as it had been the last time Klavier had seen it. Kristoph had been there then, lecturing the latest pupil he had taken in, though he had smiled when he saw Klavier; he had asked him about something that was insignificant in the scheme of things, though at the time it had made Klavier pleased that Kristoph had remembered it.
Klavier is slightly bothered when he realizes that he doesn't remember what it was that Kristoph had said, and even more so when he realizes that he doesn't really remember what Kristoph's voice had sounded like.
He shakes his head, muttering a soft "Ach..." under his breath as he does so. He switches keys in his hand and moves toward Kristoph's private office, a large subsection of the area hidden behind thick doors. He unlocks them and steps inside; unsurprisingly, the place is just as dusty as everywhere else. He approaches the shelves near the desk first, looking at the titles of the thick books collected on them - mostly law manuals, as Klavier had expected.
He moves closer to the desk, continuing to look at the titles of the books on the shelves; a few of them, nearest to the desk, appear to be ledgers of some sort. Klavier pulls these down; he rationalizes that it would probably be best to see what sort of state his brother had been in financially, now that it's no longer something Kristoph will have to handle.
He turns around to set them on the desk, but the expression that Kristoph is giving him from across the room stops him cold.
Klavier sets the ledgers down on the desk anyway, kicking up a small storm of dust; Kristoph's eyes track down to glance at the disturbance at the same time Klavier's do, and he meets his gaze again as soon as Klavier looks back up. He's glowering at him this time; the look of anger and accusation in his eyes is unmistakable.
Klavier swallows hard, then opens one of the ledgers; he's immediately surprised when, instead of rows of numbers, he finds lines of his brother's small, neat handwriting. A quick skimming of the page is enough for Klavier to get the idea that it's a journal of some sort - something he shouldn't be looking at.
The realization comes with a sudden awareness; Kristoph's standing just behind him, and Klavier isn't sure what makes him aware of it, as he can't see him and there isn't any noise to indicate it, but he's sure just the same. He slams the journal closed; his breathing has quickened immensely, and he stands there for a moment with his fingers splayed open on the cover until he feels like he can back up without slamming into his brother. As soon as that feeling comes, he turns around.
Nothing.
Klavier takes a deep breath and shifts, moving around to stand behind the desk.
"You have to do this eventually, Klavier," he mutters to himself, and though he's unsure of exactly when he suddenly decided that pep-talking himself was a good idea, it seems to work for the time being. He pulls open one of the top drawers, finding nothing but pens and stationery. The drawer below that appears to be files, mostly personal legal documents that Klavier takes out of the filing system and sets on top of the journals. He moves to the other side, glancing up to make sure that his brother has returned to his earlier positioning across the room before he opens the top drawer.
Slightly more personal items rest inside that drawer - Klavier tilts his head to the side, unsure of what to feel about the bottle of Ariadoney; eventually, he decides that it doesn't matter, setting it on the desk next to the other things he's planning on taking with him. He hesitates when he finds several small picture frames inside the drawer, and forgets about the idea of looking entirely when Kristoph's hand finds his wrist.
His grip is far lighter than Klavier remembers it ever being - he can still remember wrestling with his brother when they were younger, over some unimportant thing or another, and Kristoph being able to pin him to the ground; this was before Kristoph had, somehow, become irreconcilable with the idea of fistfighting in Klavier's mind.
The coldness is what makes Klavier stop any motions he had been undertaking; the pressure Kristoph seems to be applying may be strangely soft, but his skin is unnaturally cold against Klavier's. He's felt the coldness before, unnatural though it is; waking up with it next to him, touching his arm, is the reason he sleeps with the lights on. He can't feel any sort of life there - nothing resembling a pulse or any other indication that Kristoph might still miraculously be alive - and when he looks up, Kristoph's skin is so full of pallor that it's somehow painful to look at; the darkest things there are the ligature marks arcing around his neck and the thick, dark bruises just underneath and behind his left ear.
Klavier decides he's been looking too long when he realizes that Kristoph's neck looks strange in that area, outside of the bruising; he can practically see the hyperextension of the neck, shuddering as he realizes that breaks in that area are called "hangman's fractures" for a reason. He looks back down toward the desk, where Kristoph's fingers still locked around his wrist; he can see Kristoph's hand constricting, and though it's not as visible to him as it would be to Apollo, the mark on the back is still there.
He closes the drawer with his free hand, and Kristoph lets go. Klavier doesn't look at him again as he leaves the office without taking the things he had laid out.
He gives the keys back to Detective Skye later; he tells her that he might have forgotten to lock the office, and asks her if she'll check.
"After all, it's not like you're on a case or anything," he says casually; she grabs the keys and stalks off, crunching on Snackoos as though her life depends on it as she mutters something about being the glimmerous fop's errand girl.
Klavier doesn't see Kristoph standing near his doorway that night, though when he dozes off, his dreams are plagued with violin music and strange, shrieking laughter. He wakes up with a jolt, breathing deeply for a moment before pushing himself into a sitting position and raking a hand backward through his hair.
He checks the doorway again, then shoots a quick look down toward the mattress, half expecting to see Kristoph lying there in a sick imitation of sleep.
Nothing.
He gets up and moves toward the vanity, grabbing his brush and running it through his hair, looking at the doorframe and expecting to see Kristoph standing there, disapproving as always.
Klavier doesn't see him until he turns around to face the mirror again and doesn't see himself.
Kristoph's actions in the mirror copy Klavier's exactly, pallored hands running a brush through loose, blond hair. His mimicry is flawless; the major difference is in his expression. Kristoph's pupils are constricted and his left eye twitches slightly, and even though he's smiling, it's not a nice smile.
Klavier can feel himself glaring as he slams the brush down onto the dresser; Kristoph copies the action, his facial tic increasing in severity. He mouths three syllables before Klavier can't look anymore; even though he can't hear his brother's voice saying them, he can still hear the words.
I blame you.
Daryan hasn't bothered to get up, lying on his back on the bed in his cell; he stares at Klavier from there, looking incredibly cynical and almost bored. "You think you're going crazy."
Klavier shrugs. "Basically."
"And you came over here...just so you could tell me that you think you're going crazy."
"...that would be the gist of it, Daryan."
Daryan laughs, strange and cold and nothing like the sound in Klavier's nightmares. "Aren't you something. And here I thought it was because you missed me."
Klavier looks at him defensively. "I came here because I don't know who else I can talk to about this."
"You thought that I'd help you?"
"You've been my best friend for years."
"Yeah, well, I thought that was over. You know, last performance and all that. Unless you were just being pointlessly poetic about crap. Again."
Klavier attempts to smile at that, though the words do sting slightly. "You know how it goes, Daryan."
"Yeah, yeah. I get accused of things and you go behind my back instead of saying anything, and then you come to talk to me when you have problems. I know how it goes."
Klavier sighs. "Anyway...I wanted to talk to you about Kristoph."
Daryan stares at the wall just above and next to his bed for a moment. "What about him? He's dead. If you're wondering what he did in here, all he did was act like his crazy-ass self. Sometimes he'd raise a bunch of - "
"I still see him."
Daryan shifts his stare over to Klavier; it's no less skeptical than before. "Really."
"I...ja. He's still around."
"Where are we talking?"
"Everywhere."
"I don't know what to tell you, man. I mean, outside of maybe 'go see a goddamn shrink'..."
"I don't think that'll help."
"You're seeing a dead guy everywhere, Gavin. Go see a goddamn shrink."
Klavier flinches. "Well, he's been everywhere, but he's not..."
"Not...what?"
The walls suddenly seem like a good place to look. "He's not here. I see him everywhere but here."
"...so you're having a hallucination involving seeing your brother, ignoring the part where he's dead, but - "
"He's dead when I see him, too...he has marks all over. From the hanging."
"...so you're having a hallucination involving seeing your brother while he's dead, but apparently he has half a brain in these hallucinations and wants to stay away from the prison."
"I...suppose."
"You know what your solution is?"
"No...?"
"Move in."
Klavier rolls his eyes. "Daryan..."
Daryan laughs. "Come on. You could spend some quality time with me, and you'd get the added bonus of not imagining Other-Gavin following you around. The guy's always been weird as hell; I can imagine not wanting to be around him constantly, especially when he's dead."
"Can you at least pretend to take this seriously?"
"You're making it hard. And besides, there's still the fact that I'm pissed as hell at you." Daryan props himself up on one elbow, looking at Klavier a bit more directly. "So why don't you want to see a shrink, anyway?"
Klavier sighs, raking his fingers through his bangs. "I just don't, Daryan."
"There has to be a reason, man. Come on."
"It's nothing important."
"Look, did you come here to talk to me or not? What the hell's the issue?"
"Just...they never helped Kristoph any, all right?" Klavier closes his eyes, trying to get his thoughts in order. "When we were younger, he had problems - he's always had problems. He stopped talking to anyone just before he started practicing law. I was young, and I believed him when he said he was doing better." Klavier laughs, but it's hollow. "I guess not."
Daryan looks at him, his eyes narrowed slightly. "Look, man. Whether he was crazy or not, your brother was a bitch. Plain and simple. I don't care what excuses you keep shoveling out, and I don't know why in hell you've spent so much time following him around that you let yourself keep doing it after he died, but either he's going to run your life or you're going to put the fucking 'was' in that plain and simple truth I just laid out for you. He was a bitch. Now he's dead. Let him stay dead, yeah?"
Klavier stares at him. "Daryan...that was incredibly insulting."
"I know."
"Not to mention crude."
"I try."
"But it was still somehow pretty inspiring. I'm surprised."
Daryan rolls his eyes. "Yeah, whatever. Don't say that too loudly; the guy in the next cell over might start thinking I can give advice worth a damn."
Klavier laughs slightly. "Ja, ja. Okay."
"Go see a shrink, Gavin. Seriously. Maybe then you'll stop coming in here because you're going nuts." His words are blunt, but a smile threatens to crack Daryan's slightly disgruntled expression. "You keep making those puppy-eyes at me when I don't know what you expect me to say, and it's disturbing as hell." Daryan lies down again, staring up at the ceiling.
Klavier shakes his head. "I don't expect anything - except maybe for you to be honest. It's why I came."
"Yeah, and I was. Now go make a goddamn appointment."
Klavier shakes his head again and gives him another smile before he turns to go, though Daryan's voice stops him a moment later.
"Hey, Gavin."
"Hm?"
"Come back when you're not as crazy, okay? You know, when you have some time in your packed schedule. After all, you said that bastard doesn't stalk you here, and since I somehow doubt he'll leave you alone right away, come down to this little corner of hell if you need to take a break from him."
Klavier looks back at him, over his shoulder. "I'll do that, Daryan."
"Good. Now get the hell out before the offices close."
Though he knows it takes a couple of weeks before he can clear out most of Kristoph's personal belongings from his law office - and he keeps the pictures that were in the desk, since they're mostly family, though he’ll probably never read Kristoph's journals - Klavier isn't sure how much time passes before he can sleep with the lights turned off again.
It's something he simply begins doing one night, and he isn't aware of it until almost a week after the fact.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3757
Characters: Klavier Gavin-centric; also involving Kristoph Gavin, Apollo Justice and Daryan Crescend.
Warnings: Spoilers for Apollo Justice/Gyakuten Saiban 4; some language and imagery; pre-fic character death.
He's taken to sleeping with the lights on, every single bulb on the upper floor illuminating the hallways, keeping the bedrooms lit. One of those bedrooms had been the guest room once, though Kristoph had slept there a few times - sometimes on his own, but usually only on those rare nights when Klavier could get Kristoph to drink, to loosen up a bit. Kristoph refused to drive home afterwards and they stayed up late into the night, talking like they had when they were still young and dumb and Kristoph's hands hadn't been completely covered in blood.
But that had been months ago; the room isn't even a guest room anymore, and Klavier doesn't sleep.
The ceiling light shines in his face; it's annoying, but it's harder to deal with everything in the dark, and so he lies facedown, his face buried in too many pillows. It's too warm for the blanket, which lies discarded on the ground; though part of him wonders why he even keeps the blanket in here anymore, he never moves it elsewhere.
After about an hour of fooling himself, Klavier flops over onto his back; he opens his eyes, glancing toward the doorway.
Kristoph is standing near the doorframe; his expression is passive, but his eyes are cold. Angry.
He turns his head slightly to watch as Klavier stands up and moves toward the vanity across the room. Klavier shakes his head, continuing to look in the mirror as he grabs a brush and begins yanking it through his hair. He can still see his older brother behind him, though he tries to ignore the dark ligature marks that are visible just above Kristoph's collar as he shifts. The deepest mark, black with bruising just behind and underneath Kristoph's left ear, still shows despite the coiled braid that rests across Kristoph's shoulder. Klavier has come to hate those marks; he hadn't seen them in person, but it turned out that it didn't really matter.
Klavier rakes his fingers through his hair roughly, shaking his head as he does so, before he begins another round with the brush. He keeps his eyes on the mirror, speaking only to his brother's reflection. "Go away, Kristoph."
Kristoph never answers; Klavier doesn't know what will happen on the day that he does.
"I said, 'Go away.'"
He continues to keep his eyes on the mirror, glaring darkly at it until he finishes one hundred strokes with the brush; Kristoph's expression never flickers away from quiet rage.
When Klavier turns around, he finds himself alone.
He doesn't remember when it started, though he remembers that the dreams came first. Even though Klavier remembers the endings clearly, they don't make much sense; they usually disobey most logical rules, as dreams often do, with several skips and jumps where it feels like something should have happened but somehow, whatever it was doesn't matter.
It never matters how it starts; often, it's a perfectly normal dream, ending in Klavier standing backstage at a darkened concert venue, preparing for a show. He doesn't know when he moves from tuning his guitar to standing in the back of the auditorium, but he finds himself watching the lights come up on his brother, standing center stage and playing that violin that Klavier had always hated. He's alone, playing something strange and slow, and no matter how many times the dream happens, Klavier never recognizes it right away. The title of the piece comes to him a second later, after he figures out that the tempo has been slowed down to a dirge, a grotesque mockery of what it had been - and as soon as the words "Atroquinine, My Love" cross his mind, the fire starts.
And even though he's a good distance away, Klavier can see the bruising and sharp lacerations blossoming on his brother's neck as he pulls the violin away.
He always jolts himself awake before the flames completely consume the stage, and tries not to contemplate why Kristoph never screams as he burns; instead, he laughs.
It's a harsh, uncontrolled sound that stays with Klavier for far too long; it makes him think of a story he's heard, an urban legend dealing with a certain song that, when heard too much, drives the listener insane.
Court is difficult, but Klavier had seen that coming from a mile away. He's never sure if he's seeing things or not; he closes his eyes for a moment at various points during the witnesses' testimony and runs a few lyrics through his head - "Guilty Love," more often than not - and then he can continue with his day.
Apollo corners him afterwards, in the library underneath the courtroom; it's easier to ignore things there, but Apollo plainly does not want to be ignored.
"Prosecutor Gavin...can I have a word with you?"
Klavier turns, smiling at him. "Do you need some sort of help, Herr Forehead?"
Apollo glances away for a second, then resumes eye contact. "I was just wondering...um, well. Have you been okay?"
Klavier rakes a hand through his bangs, toying with a lock of his hair as he answers. "Of course. Don't concern yourself with me, hm? Just worry about the trial tomorrow."
Apollo doesn't look convinced. "You seem a little...tired, lately. Are you having a hard time sleeping?"
"The Gavinners might not be together anymore," Klavier says, the smile twisting into something closer to a smirk before he realizes it, "but I still get bitten by creativity once in a while. Creative types work best at night; everyone knows th - "
His voice cracks for a second; the slight motion to his left is immediately dismissed as nothing when his eyes dart in that direction and everything is still. Klavier clears his throat and continues. "Everyone knows that, ja?"
By this time, Apollo has taken to staring, looking at him with such intensity that it's difficult for Klavier to maintain the appearances he's managed to hold onto so far. "Honestly, Herr Forehead," he says quickly, "if I didn't know any better, I would say that you're wishing for some sort of reunion tour." He reaches out and ruffles Apollo's hair, as much to get a rise out of him as to make him stop staring.
Apollo makes an odd noise in protest, somewhere between a growl and a whine, and Klavier smirks in spite of himself as Apollo stumbles backwards, smoothing out the section of hair that Klavier had mussed up. "Okay, okay, you win! Just...try to get some sleep..."
"I'll see what I can do."
Apollo nods, then turns to go. "Have a good evening, all right?"
"I'll do that...and thanks for worrying, Herr Forehead."
Apollo hesitates as he very obviously tries to figure out what he should do with that. He ends up calling a very unsure-sounding "Um, you're welcome" over his shoulder before he goes, disappearing through the library doors and up the stairs.
Klavier turns back to the shelves, trying to ignore the fact that Kristoph is near the door, where he's been watching the exchange with his arms folded across his chest and disapproval in his eyes.
A few hours later, Klavier walks up the steps of the large business complex that had previously housed the former Gavin Law Offices; he's avoided this place for so long, if for no better reason than he can't shake the feeling that Kristoph would disapprove of Klavier entering it alone without his explicit permission.
He had retrieved the keys from Detective Skye, who had seemed rather grudging about the whole business, but at the very least she seemed to acknowledge that a few things needed to be done and had eventually handed them over. Kristoph had overseen the entire transaction, staring at Klavier with his head angled back slightly and a displeased expression that was nearly as dark as the damaged skin on his neck; Klavier spent the majority of the discussion trying not to look at him, killing his own point repeatedly and throwing around so many uses of the word "Fraulein" to cover it that Detective Skye told him that he should probably get more sleep before coming to talk to her. When she was done giving him instructions - namely "bring that right back, as it's police property" and "don't tell anyone, or it's my neck" - she had wandered off, muttering something about former rock stars and liberal usages of illegal substances.
The office is more or less in order when Klavier arrives; there's a layer of dust on everything, but in general, everything is exactly as it had been the last time Klavier had seen it. Kristoph had been there then, lecturing the latest pupil he had taken in, though he had smiled when he saw Klavier; he had asked him about something that was insignificant in the scheme of things, though at the time it had made Klavier pleased that Kristoph had remembered it.
Klavier is slightly bothered when he realizes that he doesn't remember what it was that Kristoph had said, and even more so when he realizes that he doesn't really remember what Kristoph's voice had sounded like.
He shakes his head, muttering a soft "Ach..." under his breath as he does so. He switches keys in his hand and moves toward Kristoph's private office, a large subsection of the area hidden behind thick doors. He unlocks them and steps inside; unsurprisingly, the place is just as dusty as everywhere else. He approaches the shelves near the desk first, looking at the titles of the thick books collected on them - mostly law manuals, as Klavier had expected.
He moves closer to the desk, continuing to look at the titles of the books on the shelves; a few of them, nearest to the desk, appear to be ledgers of some sort. Klavier pulls these down; he rationalizes that it would probably be best to see what sort of state his brother had been in financially, now that it's no longer something Kristoph will have to handle.
He turns around to set them on the desk, but the expression that Kristoph is giving him from across the room stops him cold.
Klavier sets the ledgers down on the desk anyway, kicking up a small storm of dust; Kristoph's eyes track down to glance at the disturbance at the same time Klavier's do, and he meets his gaze again as soon as Klavier looks back up. He's glowering at him this time; the look of anger and accusation in his eyes is unmistakable.
Klavier swallows hard, then opens one of the ledgers; he's immediately surprised when, instead of rows of numbers, he finds lines of his brother's small, neat handwriting. A quick skimming of the page is enough for Klavier to get the idea that it's a journal of some sort - something he shouldn't be looking at.
The realization comes with a sudden awareness; Kristoph's standing just behind him, and Klavier isn't sure what makes him aware of it, as he can't see him and there isn't any noise to indicate it, but he's sure just the same. He slams the journal closed; his breathing has quickened immensely, and he stands there for a moment with his fingers splayed open on the cover until he feels like he can back up without slamming into his brother. As soon as that feeling comes, he turns around.
Nothing.
Klavier takes a deep breath and shifts, moving around to stand behind the desk.
"You have to do this eventually, Klavier," he mutters to himself, and though he's unsure of exactly when he suddenly decided that pep-talking himself was a good idea, it seems to work for the time being. He pulls open one of the top drawers, finding nothing but pens and stationery. The drawer below that appears to be files, mostly personal legal documents that Klavier takes out of the filing system and sets on top of the journals. He moves to the other side, glancing up to make sure that his brother has returned to his earlier positioning across the room before he opens the top drawer.
Slightly more personal items rest inside that drawer - Klavier tilts his head to the side, unsure of what to feel about the bottle of Ariadoney; eventually, he decides that it doesn't matter, setting it on the desk next to the other things he's planning on taking with him. He hesitates when he finds several small picture frames inside the drawer, and forgets about the idea of looking entirely when Kristoph's hand finds his wrist.
His grip is far lighter than Klavier remembers it ever being - he can still remember wrestling with his brother when they were younger, over some unimportant thing or another, and Kristoph being able to pin him to the ground; this was before Kristoph had, somehow, become irreconcilable with the idea of fistfighting in Klavier's mind.
The coldness is what makes Klavier stop any motions he had been undertaking; the pressure Kristoph seems to be applying may be strangely soft, but his skin is unnaturally cold against Klavier's. He's felt the coldness before, unnatural though it is; waking up with it next to him, touching his arm, is the reason he sleeps with the lights on. He can't feel any sort of life there - nothing resembling a pulse or any other indication that Kristoph might still miraculously be alive - and when he looks up, Kristoph's skin is so full of pallor that it's somehow painful to look at; the darkest things there are the ligature marks arcing around his neck and the thick, dark bruises just underneath and behind his left ear.
Klavier decides he's been looking too long when he realizes that Kristoph's neck looks strange in that area, outside of the bruising; he can practically see the hyperextension of the neck, shuddering as he realizes that breaks in that area are called "hangman's fractures" for a reason. He looks back down toward the desk, where Kristoph's fingers still locked around his wrist; he can see Kristoph's hand constricting, and though it's not as visible to him as it would be to Apollo, the mark on the back is still there.
He closes the drawer with his free hand, and Kristoph lets go. Klavier doesn't look at him again as he leaves the office without taking the things he had laid out.
He gives the keys back to Detective Skye later; he tells her that he might have forgotten to lock the office, and asks her if she'll check.
"After all, it's not like you're on a case or anything," he says casually; she grabs the keys and stalks off, crunching on Snackoos as though her life depends on it as she mutters something about being the glimmerous fop's errand girl.
Klavier doesn't see Kristoph standing near his doorway that night, though when he dozes off, his dreams are plagued with violin music and strange, shrieking laughter. He wakes up with a jolt, breathing deeply for a moment before pushing himself into a sitting position and raking a hand backward through his hair.
He checks the doorway again, then shoots a quick look down toward the mattress, half expecting to see Kristoph lying there in a sick imitation of sleep.
Nothing.
He gets up and moves toward the vanity, grabbing his brush and running it through his hair, looking at the doorframe and expecting to see Kristoph standing there, disapproving as always.
Klavier doesn't see him until he turns around to face the mirror again and doesn't see himself.
Kristoph's actions in the mirror copy Klavier's exactly, pallored hands running a brush through loose, blond hair. His mimicry is flawless; the major difference is in his expression. Kristoph's pupils are constricted and his left eye twitches slightly, and even though he's smiling, it's not a nice smile.
Klavier can feel himself glaring as he slams the brush down onto the dresser; Kristoph copies the action, his facial tic increasing in severity. He mouths three syllables before Klavier can't look anymore; even though he can't hear his brother's voice saying them, he can still hear the words.
I blame you.
Daryan hasn't bothered to get up, lying on his back on the bed in his cell; he stares at Klavier from there, looking incredibly cynical and almost bored. "You think you're going crazy."
Klavier shrugs. "Basically."
"And you came over here...just so you could tell me that you think you're going crazy."
"...that would be the gist of it, Daryan."
Daryan laughs, strange and cold and nothing like the sound in Klavier's nightmares. "Aren't you something. And here I thought it was because you missed me."
Klavier looks at him defensively. "I came here because I don't know who else I can talk to about this."
"You thought that I'd help you?"
"You've been my best friend for years."
"Yeah, well, I thought that was over. You know, last performance and all that. Unless you were just being pointlessly poetic about crap. Again."
Klavier attempts to smile at that, though the words do sting slightly. "You know how it goes, Daryan."
"Yeah, yeah. I get accused of things and you go behind my back instead of saying anything, and then you come to talk to me when you have problems. I know how it goes."
Klavier sighs. "Anyway...I wanted to talk to you about Kristoph."
Daryan stares at the wall just above and next to his bed for a moment. "What about him? He's dead. If you're wondering what he did in here, all he did was act like his crazy-ass self. Sometimes he'd raise a bunch of - "
"I still see him."
Daryan shifts his stare over to Klavier; it's no less skeptical than before. "Really."
"I...ja. He's still around."
"Where are we talking?"
"Everywhere."
"I don't know what to tell you, man. I mean, outside of maybe 'go see a goddamn shrink'..."
"I don't think that'll help."
"You're seeing a dead guy everywhere, Gavin. Go see a goddamn shrink."
Klavier flinches. "Well, he's been everywhere, but he's not..."
"Not...what?"
The walls suddenly seem like a good place to look. "He's not here. I see him everywhere but here."
"...so you're having a hallucination involving seeing your brother, ignoring the part where he's dead, but - "
"He's dead when I see him, too...he has marks all over. From the hanging."
"...so you're having a hallucination involving seeing your brother while he's dead, but apparently he has half a brain in these hallucinations and wants to stay away from the prison."
"I...suppose."
"You know what your solution is?"
"No...?"
"Move in."
Klavier rolls his eyes. "Daryan..."
Daryan laughs. "Come on. You could spend some quality time with me, and you'd get the added bonus of not imagining Other-Gavin following you around. The guy's always been weird as hell; I can imagine not wanting to be around him constantly, especially when he's dead."
"Can you at least pretend to take this seriously?"
"You're making it hard. And besides, there's still the fact that I'm pissed as hell at you." Daryan props himself up on one elbow, looking at Klavier a bit more directly. "So why don't you want to see a shrink, anyway?"
Klavier sighs, raking his fingers through his bangs. "I just don't, Daryan."
"There has to be a reason, man. Come on."
"It's nothing important."
"Look, did you come here to talk to me or not? What the hell's the issue?"
"Just...they never helped Kristoph any, all right?" Klavier closes his eyes, trying to get his thoughts in order. "When we were younger, he had problems - he's always had problems. He stopped talking to anyone just before he started practicing law. I was young, and I believed him when he said he was doing better." Klavier laughs, but it's hollow. "I guess not."
Daryan looks at him, his eyes narrowed slightly. "Look, man. Whether he was crazy or not, your brother was a bitch. Plain and simple. I don't care what excuses you keep shoveling out, and I don't know why in hell you've spent so much time following him around that you let yourself keep doing it after he died, but either he's going to run your life or you're going to put the fucking 'was' in that plain and simple truth I just laid out for you. He was a bitch. Now he's dead. Let him stay dead, yeah?"
Klavier stares at him. "Daryan...that was incredibly insulting."
"I know."
"Not to mention crude."
"I try."
"But it was still somehow pretty inspiring. I'm surprised."
Daryan rolls his eyes. "Yeah, whatever. Don't say that too loudly; the guy in the next cell over might start thinking I can give advice worth a damn."
Klavier laughs slightly. "Ja, ja. Okay."
"Go see a shrink, Gavin. Seriously. Maybe then you'll stop coming in here because you're going nuts." His words are blunt, but a smile threatens to crack Daryan's slightly disgruntled expression. "You keep making those puppy-eyes at me when I don't know what you expect me to say, and it's disturbing as hell." Daryan lies down again, staring up at the ceiling.
Klavier shakes his head. "I don't expect anything - except maybe for you to be honest. It's why I came."
"Yeah, and I was. Now go make a goddamn appointment."
Klavier shakes his head again and gives him another smile before he turns to go, though Daryan's voice stops him a moment later.
"Hey, Gavin."
"Hm?"
"Come back when you're not as crazy, okay? You know, when you have some time in your packed schedule. After all, you said that bastard doesn't stalk you here, and since I somehow doubt he'll leave you alone right away, come down to this little corner of hell if you need to take a break from him."
Klavier looks back at him, over his shoulder. "I'll do that, Daryan."
"Good. Now get the hell out before the offices close."
Though he knows it takes a couple of weeks before he can clear out most of Kristoph's personal belongings from his law office - and he keeps the pictures that were in the desk, since they're mostly family, though he’ll probably never read Kristoph's journals - Klavier isn't sure how much time passes before he can sleep with the lights turned off again.
It's something he simply begins doing one night, and he isn't aware of it until almost a week after the fact.