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The lively electric chorus of “Guilty Love” emanating from his phone drew Klavier’s attention away from his guitar, which he had been tuning on the couch of his apartment to unwind from a long day at the office. He set the instrument down and went to where the device was charging, startled by the name he saw flashing on the screen. “Herr Forehead?” he asked when he picked up the call a moment later, biting back any fear that could seep into his tone. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“This is the dumbest thing,” Apollo groaned across the line, “but I, uh, can’t reach the top shelf, ‘cause I can’t lift my arms, and Mikeko’s food is up there.” Klavier pressed the phone to his chest and sighed in relief, all the worst-case scenarios in his head put to rest at hearing the other sounding as irritated as he usually did.
The rockstar brought the device back up to his ear and joked, “So you turned to me, your tallest friend, in your hour of need.” Apollo groaned again. He was so easily embarrassed. It was adorable.
“I hate to ask—”
“Ach, don’t fret, liebling ,” he assured, standing up and picking up his motorcycle helmet. “Your sweet cat shall not go hungry tonight. I’ll be right over.”
Before the man across the phone could thank him, he was already heading down to the garage. He hopped on the motorcycle and set off, trying to focus on the road and not on what was awaiting him across town at the defense attorney’s apartment.
Klavier knew the condition that Apollo was in. He’d paced a hole into the waiting room of the hospital when he’d first been admitted after being assaulted in what remained of the courthouse, having dropped everything to get there as soon as the Chief Prosecutor called him. He stayed with him the first night when Phoenix, Athena, and Trucy had to leave. They had court tomorrow, after all. Phoenix had promised Klavier that Apollo’s attacker would face justice before heading out.
Though he appreciated the gesture and trusted the veteran defense attorney to uncover the truth in court, that did not settle any of the prosecutor’s nerves. Nothing had so far. He’d composed countless melodies to put his twitchy fingers to work and taken on as many cases as the Chief Prosecutor approved to keep his mind from straying to the broken man on that hospital bed, sobbing in his sleep, but he knew these were only temporary distractions.
Realistically, he should have nothing to worry about. Ever since he woke up, Apollo had been the same short-fused, stubborn man he’d been before landing in the hospital with severe burns across his arms and a concussion. He’d worn his world-renowned vocal cords raw assuring everyone he was fine, Klavier included. Still, there was a heaviness weighing down his shoulders bearing a blue jacket he’d never seen, a grief sinking his eyes he was too scared to ask the origins of. Still, Klavier couldn’t shake off what he’d seen that first night from the back of his eyelids.
He felt like an exposed nerve ending ever since Apollo had released himself from the hospital. Was it too soon? Was he well? Was he having any issues adjusting? Was he taking care of himself? Klavier did not want to pester him—who was he to Apollo, anyway, but a colleague in the same pursuit of justice?—but he couldn’t help his whirling worry nor his guilt. He was supposed to be in that courtroom the day of the bombing, but he’d woken up sick. Would it have been different if he’d been there? Would he have gotten him out on time? Would he have noticed the attacker before they could strike?
Knocking on the defense attorney’s door, he breathed his anxiety down. He was there to help him and nothing else. His feelings were his to process, not to burden upon the other man. He had enough to carry as it was. The prosecutor cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders, and put on a practiced calmly content expression.
Apollo opened the door, limping back to allow him to step through. Knowing that would happen did not make it any easier to see. “Thanks for coming so late,” he said, sheepish. A loud meow interrupted him. “As you can hear, she’s very hungry.”
Klavier let out a barely-forced laugh. “Don’t worry, Mikeko! Your knight in shining armor is here,” he said, making his way to the kitchenette in the small apartment. Apollo followed, each step accentuated with a quiet grunt. He focused on getting the green and blue bag of cat food down to the cupboard to not think about that. The calico cat, hearing the familiar shuffling, made her way to the prosecutor, meowing up at him. “I hear you, liebchen , I do,” he told her, kneeling down to pick up her bowl. He stopped serving when Apollo gave him the cue to do so. As he set it back down, storing the bag in a cupboard he thought the defense attorney could reach, the cat’s nose rubbed against his hand. A natural chuckle escaped him at the gesture, and he scratched the top of her head. When he drew his hand back, Mikeko dug into her dinner eagerly. Klavier stepped out of the kitchenette to sit on the couch’s armrest, facing the other man who was looking down at his cat with a fond smile on his face.
“She really is quite sweet,” Klavier complimented. “And loud! Like her owner, eh?”
Apollo laughed, turning to glare at him playfully. “Hey, she was already like that when I rescued her,” he joked. One hand rubbed over his forearm, his face twisting for a moment into a grimace.
The prosecutor’s leg started bouncing. “So, your arms aren’t doing too well?” he asked, infusing that sentence with all his reserves of nonchalance. He still sounded too concerned to his ears.
The defense attorney winced. “I’m fine.”
“You were hospitalized , Herr Forehead. No one expects you to be fine.”
“I’m not in the hospital anymore, though, am I? I discharged myself,” he replied, a bit too quick and a bit too curt. “I’ve been handling this alone and I’m fine .”
Klavier put a hand on his knee to stop his leg’s restless movements. “If you say so,” he sighed, thinking it best to drop the subject. Apollo returned to looking at Mikeko. She switched bowls and was now drinking water.
The prosecutor stood up. He’d done what he came here to do. If he stayed any longer, all his worry and sympathy and pity would spill out of him eventually, and he knew the defense attorney didn’t need or want it. “I moved the bag further down. If you need your tallest friend again, you have my number, ja ?” he said as a goodbye, making the short trip to the door. The calico cat noted this shift and left her bowls, rubbing her face across his leather pants. Her tail wrapped around his ankle.
Apollo nodded. “Thanks again,” he said, as his own goodbye. He chuckled when he saw his cat’s antics. “Mikeko, come here. Let Prosecutor Gavin go.”
The cat continued purring as she clung to the prosecutor’s thin legs, defying her owner. “Ach, she’s stubborn like you, too,” he joked, standing awkwardly in place to not harm or step on her. “She’s probably smelling Vongole. She sheds a lot of hair,” he rambled, unsure of what else to do as the defense attorney, seeing this was a losing battle, approached the two.
He leaned down and reached out to grab her, but cried out and fell on his knees. Mikeko yowled and backed away at hearing her owner’s distress. Klavier kneeled. “Herr Forehead, what’s wrong?”
“Ah—ow! Shit, that burns !” he replied, his arms trembling as he brought them both to his chest. Tears pricked at his eyes. When Klavier’s gaze settled on the other’s bandaged arms, which he’d been consciously trying not to stare at, he noticed the brown and yellow stains on the fabric and how the wrapping near the elbow was frayed. He did not have much experience with gauze, but that looked far more worn than it ever did while Apollo had been at the hospital.
“You haven’t… you haven’t replaced your bandages all this time?” Klavier asked, his eyes wide in alarm as he stared at the stains. He couldn’t pry his gaze away from them. His mind fell from one bad scenario to the next worst case. When Apollo did not answer him, panic popped in his chest. “ Mein Gott , Herr Forehead! It could get infected! Didn’t the hospital staff instruct you to keep the grafts clean?”
“They did! Of course, they did,” he answered, scrambling back. He switched from kneeling to sitting cross-legged on the floor. “I discharged myself. I can do this alone,” he said, looking off toward the wall and pulling the jacket over his shoulders closer to himself. Klavier’s shoulders sagged. It didn’t sound like Apollo was talking to him anymore. How many times had he told himself that trying to convince himself it was the truth?
The prosecutor switched his position to sit on his heels. The man’s eyes were still fixed on the wall, and his hands had a death grip on the lapels of the jacket. “Apollo Justice,” he said. He turned to face Klavier. God, how much sadness could fit in those brown eyes? “I know you can, liebling , but you don’t have to.”
Apollo closed his eyes and turned away again. Klavier placed a hand on the other’s shoulder lightly, mindful of how sensitive the skin beneath was. Now he was touching it, he noticed the jacket was coarse, durable, and definitely not Apollo’s style. He vaguely wondered who it belonged to, but knew better than to ask. “Apollo, you saved me,” he confessed, gaze fixed on his own rings, emblazoned with the Gavinners logo. They gleamed dully in the apartment’s incandescent light. He felt the defense attorney shift beneath his hand. “During the Misham trial. There was a darkness in me. I know you sensed it. You pulled it out.” He laughed humorlessly. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t do that for you.”
The powdery softness of the bandages covering the other’s hand ghosted over his own. “No one could’ve predicted the bomb or, or the attack—”
He nodded, interrupting, “ Ja , this is different.” Blue eyes finally looked up from their hands to the other’s tired gaze. “I’m only asking you to let me return the favor the only way I can. I couldn’t protect you from that, but I—I can help you with this. Bitte ,” he took a shuddering breath, “let me help you with this,” he asked, keeping his gaze on the other’s expression. His brow furrowed in thought for a moment but then relaxed as the defense attorney conceded.
“The roll of gauze they gave me is in the kitchen. The cupboard below the one that had Mikeko’s food,” he said. Klavier nodded as he stood. He rummaged through a few packets of instant noodles before he found it. Roll in hand, he sat back down, closer to the injured defense attorney than he’d been previously.
Apollo extended one arm outward. With a gentle tug, the prosecutor undid the clasp holding the bandages together, then followed the pattern laid down by the nurses as he unfurled the long string of cloth. It was stained all across on the inside. His hands were fine, bearing only some superficial scratches, but when Klavier reached his wrist, a mesh pattern of red and purple peeked out. He inhaled sharply at the sight, bringing the other’s gaze to his. “You might want to, um,” he stuttered, swallowing down his shock for the defense attorney’s sake, “not look, Herr Forehead.”
“That bad, huh?” His eyes fluttered closed.
Klavier proceeded with his ministrations, humming the melody he’d been working on earlier that day when he got the phone call as he uncovered the colorful wounds across the man’s arm. Apollo’s eyes scrunched more tightly closed when his injuries were exposed to the cold. The prosecutor rolled the long trail of slightly damp cloth and set it aside. Mikeko approached it curiously but drew back once she sniffed it. She changed her position instead to curl up on her owner’s legs. He chuckled when he felt her familiar weight, and started petting her with his other hand.
As Klavier had removed the old bandages, he wrapped the new ones. He followed the same pattern, making sure to apply some pressure, but not to the point that it creased Apollo’s brow. When he reached the other man’s hand, he tucked the excess cloth into his palm. His fingers lingered there for a little longer than they needed to, perhaps, but who would begrudge him that?
Without needing to be asked, the defense attorney switched the position of his arms. Klavier scooted slightly to the left for a better angle. “Herr Forehead, ehrm… Your bracelet…” he said dumbly, realizing it obstructed his path. His eyes still closed, the man pulled it off with his other hand and set it down on the floor next to him. Mikeko voiced her annoyance at not being pet anymore. She was silenced with scratches in her favorite spot. The prosecutor swallowed, eyes frozen on the golden bracelet, then shook his head and resumed his task as well as his acoustic song.
“I didn’t mean to let it get like this,” Apollo whispered, looking down. Klavier stopped humming. “The bandages, I mean,” he clarified. “I tried to change them myself, but it hurt too much. I thought if I waited it out a little, I’d get well enough to do it.”
The prosecutor let out a soft chuckle. “Headstrong to a fault, aren’t you?”
“Ah, come on, I know you love it.”
Klavier was thankful the other man still had his eyes closed because he feared the expression on his face at those words. He took a deep breath to stabilize his hands. He set aside the second set of worn bandages and started applying the fresh ones. The defense attorney seemed to have no more comments to make, so the humming joined the cat’s peaceful purring in filling the air.
When he’d tucked the bit of gauze sticking out into the other’s palm once again, he drew back. Apollo kept his arm up, though. “Could you—” he cleared his throat and opened his eyes. “Could you help me with the bracelet?” he asked, looking at him.
Klavier nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He reached down and picked up the golden accessory he’d never seen the man before him without. It was cool to the touch. He stopped himself from trailing the indentations forming a pattern of wide-open eyes, focusing instead on sliding it past Apollo’s hand to his wrist. It settled there like it had been specifically created for him to wear.
“Thanks,” the defense attorney said. For what, exactly, Klavier was not quite sure, but he didn’t need to know.
“No, to you,” he retorted. Apollo frowned, ready to argue, but the prosecutor stopped him with a hand. “Thank you for letting me.. Letting me do this for you.” What he meant, he was not quite sure, either, but the other man still nodded.
Apollo, though he looked pained to do it, shooed Mikeko off his legs. She protested but eventually moved. With Klavier’s help, he stood back up. “Will you be all right tonight?” he asked, finally comfortable letting all his concern bare before him.
The defense attorney gave him a small smile. “Yeah. I’m Apollo Justice. I’m fine,” he joked. Still, he believed him. It sounded true this time he said it.
With that assurance, and after having given Mikeko one final pet across her head, Klavier went to the door. The other lawyer followed, still limping. “If you need anything, call me,” the prosecutor insisted as he stepped outside. “You don’t have to face this alone. You don’t have to face anything alone.”
The defense attorney looked moved. “Thank you, Klavier,” he said. He looked down. “Thank you.”
He looked back up. Klavier smiled at those tired eyes, just slightly brighter. Slightly more at peace. Apollo was far from recovered, but he was on his way there. He let out a small sigh, the fears that had gnawed away at his head since Apollo had left the hospital quieted as he closed the door behind him.