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If there is anything Klavier can count on in life, it’s paperwork.
And death, but he doesn’t like dwelling on that too much.
Each case brings more forms, more reports, more papers to fill out, type up, sign with a squiggle none of his fans would recognize.
He grips his pen in his hand. Former fans. He is no longer a rock star. He is no longer a musician. He is Prosecutor Klavier Gavin. Full stop.
Klavier taps his pen against the desk as he reads over his newest case. When it begins to sound too much like a rhythm, a drumbeat, he tosses it aside.
Prosecutor , he reminds himself. Just prosecutor .
He grips the paper between his hands to stop tapping. Forces his leg to still, his foot to stay silent. He should be better at this—he should be fine.
There’s a knock at the door, so rhythmic Klavier wants to tear his hair out. But he doesn’t. He sits straighter and calls out, “Eintreten.”
The door opens a sliver, and Sebastian peeks in. “You know, the German is unnecessary.”
“Ich glaube nicht,” Klavier says, just to annoy him. Sebastian wrinkles his nose. “What did you need?”
“Um…” Sebastian slides into Klavier’s office, as if opening the door anymore will burn him. “It’s less of a need and more of…a question.”
“Same thing, ja?”
“Uh, nein? It’s kind of personal.”
Klavier blinks at Sebastian. And, despite standing, Sebastian gives the impression that he is uncomfortably squirming in his seat.
“Personal?” Klavier repeats.
Sebastian nods, and Klavier almost wants to ask again. Or take Sebastian’s temperature. In the time Klavier has worked with him, Sebastian has never done personal ; not at the office, anyway. His hard-line between Prosecutor Debeste and Sebastian is rivaled only by Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth—which Klavier assumes is a trait passed down through mentorship.
If Klavier wants to know something personal about Sebastian, he asks it strictly off hours. And, sometimes, with a little bit of bribing. He doesn’t keep German sweets around for himself.
Sebastian starts to shuffle toward the door, clearly taking Klavier’s extended silence as a rejection.
“Ask,” Klavier bursts out, startling Sebastian like a deer. “Ask away. Ask anything you want.” Anything to keep the silence away. Anything to keep Klavier grounded here , in this moment, in the prosecutor’s office where he is a prosecutor who prosecutes people.
“I was in the break room,” Sebastian says, fiddling with his baton.
“You can sit,” Klavier interrupts. He traded the speakers for sensible office furniture. One less reminder.
Sebastian leans against the edge of a table. “Did you eat today?”
Klavier glances at the clock. “Not hungry. You were in the break room, eating, I presume.”
“Nice guess.”
“I am a prosecutor.”
Sebastian looks down at the baton in his hands. “You are.”
Klavier suddenly gets a distinct impression that he’s not going to enjoy the direction this is headed. “So…the break room, ja?”
“Ja,” Sebastian copycats absentmindedly. “Do you know Prosecutor Newman? He’s new. Ish. It’s been a while, actually. I don’t know why I said he was new.” Sebastian bends his baton.
“I know of him, but we haven’t spoken.” Which wasn’t like Klavier, who was always making friends and getting into other people’s business. He hasn’t felt that way in a while. Maybe that was an old Klavier, and this is a new one. This is just who he is now.
Sebastian hums. “Prosecutor Newman was talking about how nice it is that your floor is so much quieter now.”
Klavier’s breath catches in his throat. He picks up a pen and randomly signs a piece of paper. He’ll figure out what it was later. “Did he? He could’ve filed a noise complaint before.”
Sebastian gives Klavier a sideways look. “Why would he?”
“He said the quiet was nice .”
“I didn’t notice,” Sebastian admits. “Not until he said something. He mentioned it about an hour ago, and it’s been bothering me ever since.”
Klavier furrows his eyebrows. “Bothering you? Kleiner Krabbe, why would that bother you?”
“Because I miss the music.”
Klavier can’t help but snort. “Sure you do.”
Sebastian stands. Klavier still has several inches on him, but when he’s sitting and Sebastian is looming over his desk, it’s hard not to notice Sebastian can have an imposing silhouette when he wants.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Sebastian asks. He notes Klavier’s papers and then places his baton on the desk.
“You’ve always hated my music,” Klavier says. “You have never once enjoyed it. Or anything I like.”
“I like plenty of things you like!” Sebastian protests. “Like those colorful little rice cakes Kay always gets us—”
“I meant musically , Debeste. We are on opposite sides of a musical spectrum. Do you not remember our argument over Tchaikovsky freshman year?” Klavier rests his chin on his hand. “I still think you’re wrong.”
“Tchaikovsky isn’t boring ,” Sebastian protests. “Just because he’s a well-known—” He holds up a hand and shakes his head. “Nope, I’m not falling for that.”
“Why not?” Klavier asks with a fake pout. “I enjoy hearing you rant about classical musicians I do not care for.”
“Romantic,” Sebastian immediately corrects.
Klavier presses a hand to his chest. “Ich bitte um Entschuldigung. Könnt Ihr mir diese Dummheiten verzeihen?”
Sebastian rolls his eyes. “There’s no need to be dramatic—”
“Says the man who enjoys music with cannons!”
“As if that isn’t something that you would do!”
Klavier pulls back sharply, pointedly staring at his file cabinets. “Would have done,” he corrects cooly.
“Yeah,” Sebastian says, “because you decided to dump your guitars in the trash and call it quits.” He gestures at Klavier’s empty wall.
“Because I would have no reason to do that after my best friend and band member murdered someone during one of our concerts. And half my fans think it’s a cool thing to tell me how much they miss Daryan—”
Sebastian presses the base of his palms to his temples. “I’m not talking about Daryan I’m talking about you —”
“And what about you; you still play piano!” Klavier throws an arm in Sebastian’s direction. “How can you even manage when your father—”
Sebastian’s face turns red. “Do not—”
“What?” Klavier snaps. “You’re allowed to bring up my personal life but I’m not about to bring up yours? Who do you even think you are to tell me what I can and can’t do—we aren’t friends!”
Sebastian steps back like he’s been burned.
“If anyone could understand at all what I was feeling right now,” Klavier snarls, “I would’ve thought it was you . But instead, you’re in my office telling me I’m living my life wrong.”
There’s a sharp double knock on the door. It creaks open a crack. “Gavin-Dono, your sound-proofing is down,” Simon Blackquill says. He nods at Sebastian. He closes the door.
“Ah yes , thank you, Prosecutor Debeste, for airing my dirty laundry to our place of employment,” Klavier hisses. “Like I need anyone else questioning my ability to do my job.”
Sebastian starts. “No one thinks—”
Klavier shoots him a sharp, icy look and Sebastian goes quiet. He picks at his gloves. Klavier spins one of his rings as the seconds tick by. He thinks that Sebastian might up and leave when he takes a deep breath.
“Sorry, I’m—” Sebastian sighs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to go that far, especially not here.”
There’s a long pause.
Klavier doesn’t think he’s going to accept this apology right now.
Sebastian gives him a quick look before looking back down at his gloved hands. “It could’ve been worse. It could’ve been as bad as the 2/8 argument.”
Klavier scoffs. He doesn’t want to think about music theory or terminology at all , but so many of his memories of Sebastian at Themis are rooted in it. The fire in Klavier’s chest cools. Maybe he’ll indulge Sebastian in time signatures.
“2/8 is the most pointless time signature to ever exist,” Klavier says. He pokes Sebastian’s baton. “Who thought we needed such a pointless thing? Common time is fine. Einwandfrei, even.”
Sebastian throws his hands up in the air. “I never said common time was bad! I was agreeing that 2/8 was nonsense—I was just trying to figure out how to count it!”
“And did you ever figure it out?”
“No!”
“ Exactly . Pointless.”
“ You didn’t help me at all.”
Klavier spins one of his rings. “And why on earth was I going to help you figure out 2/8? I have never needed it in my life. Most time signatures I don’t need to know.”
Sebastian gives him a flat look. “‘My Boyfriend is the Prosecution’s Witness’ has an entire section in 7/8 and—”
“ Don’t ,” Klavier warns. He hates the way his voice drops, the way he sounds a little too much like his brother. The way that he is almost positive Sebastian took a small step back.
“Right, right, I’m sorry,” Sebastian murmurs. He plucks up his baton and examines it before conducting a quick count of three. “‘Hey Ya’ can be counted with a measure of 2/8,” he says. “It’s technically 11/4, but it’s easier to count in three measures of 4/8, one of 2/8, and two of 4/8. Common time isn’t as common as we’re led to believe.”
“Thank you for this math lesson, Prosecutor Debeste,” Klavier deadpans. “You did have a point, ja?”
This time, Sebastian takes an actual seat. He chooses the seat closest to Klavier’s desk at the moment. Black and minimalistic and standard and plain .
“When was the last time you played music?” Sebastian asks. Suddenly. Bluntly. Inevitably.
This was where this conversation was always leading to, anyway. Klavier knew it; he just didn’t want it. But when was the last time he got what he wanted?
“I don’t need to answer that,” he says stiffly.
“No,” Sebastian agrees, “you don’t. But I’m your friend despite…everything, and I’m worried about you.”
Klavier knows Sebastian is talking about himself, about the faked grades and the way their friendship splintered and cracked as Sebastian breezed through classes while knowing almost none of the material and Klavier nearly killed himself for second best.
But he can’t help but think the ‘everything’ is what he’s done. What he hasn’t done. Didn’t do. The seven years that sit on his shoulders like heavy, immovable bricks.
“When was the last time you played?” Klavier shoots back. Because he can’t move those bricks. He doesn’t know how.
Sebastian raises his eyebrows. Klavier glares at him because neither of them are being subtle about this.
“Yesterday,” Sebastian says after the silence has reached a crescendo. “I was working on Chopin’s Prelude in D-flat Major.” Klavier gives him a blank look. “Opus twenty-eight, number fifteen?”
“You keep saying words.”
“The Raindrop Prelude?”
Klavier shrugs. “I have no idea what that is.”
Sebastian sighs. “Yeah, I guess that’s fair. I could never keep up with your rock music references.”
Klavier pushes a piece of paper around his desk and the conversation back toward Sebastian. He searches his mind for raindrops but only finds a storm. “Chopin. Is that one of his harder ones or no? You measure them in levels, richtig?”
Sebastian nods. “One to ten.”
“And this?”
“A nine.”
“Impressive, Kleiner Krabbe.”
“I didn’t come here for compliments,” Sebastian says, crossing his arms and mimicking Kay with a startling level of accuracy. “Or to talk about piano.”
“And yet here you are. Here we are.” Klavier gestures between the two of them. “Talking about piano.”
A look crosses Sebastian’s face.
“ No ,” Klavier warns. “Do not, Debeste, I swear—”
“Maybe I was wrong, maybe I did here to come talk about Piano.” Sebastian smirks a little, like this joke wasn’t tired after their first week of school.
“This is harassment and I’m reporting you to the Chief Prosecutor.” Klavier starts to stand, mostly for the joke, and Sebastian grabs his arm.
“You asked.” Sebastian won’t meet Klavier’s eyes. Klavier looks away. “Or more, you yelled, that it didn’t make sense that I could enjoy music so much after everything my father did, when he was the one who introduced me to piano. When my mother was the one who helped with lessons. And he—”
When he hears Sebastian take a shaky inhale, he braves a glance back.
Sebastian is still gripping the sleeve of Klavier’s jacket when he says, “It took a while—like a long while—before I even wanted to look at a piano again. And when I did… It was because Kay wanted me to teach her how to play the Jammin’ Ninja theme song.”
Klavier blinks. “Huh?”
Sebastian takes a breath, and lets go of Klavier. “For a while, I had to change what I was playing. It made it feel…different? I guess? New. It wasn’t the same scales and arpeggios I practiced all the time for him; I was learning the newest Carly Rae Jepson song or whatever.”
When Klavier starts to smile, Sebastian adds, “A lot of them were Kay’s suggestions; it helped me get back into it and then, one day, I was able to play music from when I was younger and not really think about it.”
“So…are you suggesting I learn Bach on the guitar?”
“That’s not what I meant. I meant…maybe you need to try something completely different.” He looks at Klavier’s empty wall again. “I don’t know what you did with all those guitars, so you might have to anyway.”
Klavier shrugs. He isn’t sure. He told the Chief Prosecutor he’d like his office cleaned out over a weekend, and when he came in the next Monday, it was reset to a generic office layout. No questions asked.
He sinks back into his chair with a sigh. “What are you getting at?”
Sebastian fiddles with the seams on his gloves. “Have you ever thought of picking up a new instrument?” His eyes flick up to Klavier, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “I have a piano in my office.”
“You know my thoughts on learning piano.”
“But could it hurt?”
Klavier spins a ring. That’s the thing, isn’t it? It couldn’t hurt. Not playing piano has always been more of a loose principle he held simply because of the name jokes. But rejecting it now… Does that mean anything other than he’s afraid of music? An entire half of his life that he let someone else take out and possibly put in the trash?
If this is how he deals with his problems, it’s no wonder he feels so empty.
“I guess it couldn’t,” he says slowly.
Sebastian breaks out into a grin so bright it’s almost startling. “So when do you want to start lessons?”
Klavier glances at his paperwork. Maybe, for a little bit, he doesn’t have to be a prosecutor. “Right now?”
Sebastian takes Klavier’s hand and pulls him to his feet. “Are you ready to learn how to play Hot Cross Buns?”
He barely holds back a smile. “Lead the way, maestro.”