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It had only stung a little when Apollo had put a finger to his forehead in thought and said, "Ummm, the sixth? I have plans. Some other time, though."
Not that Klavier expected him to know when his birthday was. If anyone was failing to keep up with the pop culture news and gossip rags, it was Apollo. Already, gifts from fans around the world had begun to pile up through Klavier's fan mail system. Hundreds of tween and teen girls and boys knew the significance of April sixth, and Herr Forehead couldn't go to a casual dinner and hang out because of plans.
Klavier had never known Apollo to have plans on a Friday night, and when he did have plans, they were with Klavier. Because they were Klavier's ideas and invitations. Because Apollo had to be dragged into having fun the way most adults were dragged into working and paying taxes. The plans keeping him from keeping Klavier company were probably cleaning the bathroom, eating a microwaved dinner, and going to bed by nine.
"Oh, okay, then," was what Klavier said, though, adding one of his trademark smiles. "Another time."
That whole week went downhill from there. Open-and-shut cases were turning up evidence that complicated his prosecution, the piles of paperwork on his desk seemed to keep growing no matter how many pieces he filled out, his hog stalled three days in a row, and a steady stream of April showers only made his rides to work or court that much more unpleasant.
Somehow, every problem came back to Apollo having plans. If Klavier knew that Friday night would be spent at some tacky cafe Apollo insisted had good meatloaf but only served pink lemonade, never just regular lemonade, the week's suffering would seem worthwhile.
When Klavier was growing up, Kristoph would make Flädle for his birthday. A simple enough dish, comfort food. Every year, without fail, a dish his brother whipped up just for him on April sixth. This time last year, Klavier was sitting at his brother's kitchen table and watching Kristoph hum to himself as he cooked up crepes and heated the broth.
"A child's choice of birthday dinner," Kristoph had said when he placed the bowl in front of him. Klavier assured him that he was young at heart, earning a smile as familiar as the pancake soup dish.
That weekend Daryan dragged him to every bar and club in town and announced that it was his "best bro's birthday." Sometimes fans would recognize them and pay for the drinks. Other times the bartenders or wait staff would sing. It was all pretty embarrassing, now that Klavier thought about it, but the liquor and good company made up for it.
A year later, and both of those people were gone. No brother to make Flädle, no friend to stay out partying with until the sun came up. No Apollo to make him laugh at a tacky cafe where he'd have meatloaf and pink lemonade on his birthday.
Friday morning, Klavier wondered why he didn't just tell Apollo that it was his birthday. The thought was fleeting; Klavier didn't know what Apollo's plans were, after all, and it would sound petty and selfish to try and guilt him into abandoning those plans for dinner. Apollo might feel obligated to give Klavier a gift when only his company was necessary. He might think it odd that Klavier wanted to spend his birthday having dinner and catching up, not going anywhere or doing anything exciting.
It was a distressingly Apollo-ish way to spend one's birthday.
Well, even if Klavier's birthday wasn't going quite the way he'd hoped, there would still be well wishes from his colleagues. When he got to his office, though, his receptionist didn't add any special greeting onto her usual 'good morning.' They'd been busy, though, Klavier thought. If he was frazzled over paperwork, she would be, too. Not surprising for it to slip her mind so early in the morning, before coffee and all.
"If anyone comes to visit me today, just let them right in," he told her. Just a little reminder wouldn't hurt.
She seemed surprised. "All right, Mr. Gavin."
Nobody came to visit him. Every time the phone rang, he'd leap for it, eager to be greeted by birthday wishes, maybe even a song. It was always business, agitated clients and courthouse clerks scheduling hearings.
He went to the building's cafeteria for lunch, passing other prosecutors and detectives who offered no more than a polite 'hello' or 'how are you.' Even Fraulein Detective, with whom he'd worked on so many cases, flung one of her chocolate snacks at him and told him to sit somewhere else when he came by with his sandwich and conspicuous slice of cake.
He ate in his office.
By the end of the day, Klavier had half a mind to go out by himself and ask the bartenders to sing happy birthday, but that was kind of a creepy request when one was alone at a bar, and he didn't have a designated driver with him. When he passed his receptionist on his way out, she said he looked tired.
"You should head straight home, Mr. Gavin," she said, nodding with conviction. "That's the best thing you could do."
He agreed and insisted that she go home, too.
"Just one more call, Mr. Gavin, an important one," she said. "Then I'm out of here, don't you worry."
As he was waiting for the elevator, Klavier was vaguely aware of her saying something about everything going according to plan. Another case taken care of, he supposed.
The ride home was long. Traffic, and light rain alternating with fog. By the time he reached his apartment, Klavier was ready to order take-out and call it a night. He couldn't say something like this was the worst birthday ever; that was a bit dramatic. At the most, he was disappointed that nobody remembered. Not a single happy birthday wish.
For the first time in a long time, he missed Kristoph.
He rode the elevator to the floor where his apartment was, dragged his feet across the carpet, and pulled out his keys. Maybe he should call Apollo and find out if he were done with his plans. What had his plans been, anyway? What was he doing tonight that was so important he couldn't—
"Surprise! Happy birthday, Klavier!"
Klavier froze in the doorway. The minute he'd swung open his door, the lights in his living room had turned on without his even reaching out for the switch. Decorations were everywhere, party hats and confetti and shiny paper letters spelling out 'Happy Birthday!' arcing over his windows.
Standing in front of him were friendly faces he knew well. Fraulein Detective, a smug look on her face; Mr. Wright and Trucy and—her wooden puppet, it seemed; the Kitaki family and Vera Misham; and in the center of them all, Apollo.
"How...?" Klavier managed.
"He's here, let's have at that cake!" Trucy said, clapping. Her father laughed but didn't protest. All at once, Klavier's surprise guests broke into their own conversations and dispersed throughout his apartment, revealing behind them pizza, cake, and bottles of soda.
Apollo came up to him. "Sorry that the guests aren't that enthusiastic. And that we just ordered pizza and got a grocery store cake. I wasn't sure who to invite or what you liked to eat, so, uh..."
"You did this, Herr Forehead?" Klavier couldn't help the smile stretching across his face. "I thought you had plans."
"These were my plans, you—I had to do something for your birthday." Apollo's face flushed. "Why didn't you say anything, anyway? You just gave me that sad smile and said it was cool if we didn't do anything tonight."
"It was cool. And my smile isn't sad," Klavier said. He shouldn't have been so surprised that Apollo noticed something off about him that day, though. Herr Forehead noticed everything. "You're allowed to have plans that don't involve me, you know."
"Yeah, I know. You dork. But plans that involve you are nice." Apollo held up a gold key in front of Klavier's face. "Give your receptionist a raise. She works hard."
His spare key. He'd entrusted it to his receptionist in case he ever needed it. Her important call before leaving the office flashed in Klavier's mind: everything according to plan.
"She was in on this. She told you it was my birthday."
"Idiot. I know when your birthday is." Apollo huffed and waved the key in front of Klavier's face with impatience. "My arm's getting tired, Mr. Birthday. Take your key."
"You can keep it, if you want."
"Don't make me throw a key at your face on your birthday," Apollo said, though his face had turned a lovely shade of red. "Now, go have cake before 'Mr. Hat' eats it all."
Klavier took the key. They all had pizza and cake, everyone wished him a happy birthday in a slightly insulting way ("Scientifically speaking, this should count as extra hours on the job." "Hey, Klavier, this is a pretty nice place you got here. You wouldn't miss a couple of plates that would look nice in Trucy's newest act, would you?" "Yo, homes, don't think we a'ight jus' cos' we show up for your shindig, ya feel?"), and Apollo didn't protest when Klavier slipped the key into his hand before he left.
Perhaps this was the best birthday ever.