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When Klavier unlocked the door to the Wright Anything Agency, he found that it was akin to a ghost town. All the lights were off, the curtains closed, and the desks vacated. The only noise was that of a small fan rattling in the corner, sputtering and whirring in a futile attempt to keep the office cool. By all accounts, the Wright Anything Agency was completely empty.
But Klavier knew better. He knew someone was still here.
Once he’d locked the door behind him, Klavier flicked on the nearby light switch, and the office was suddenly flooded with flickering yellow light. Stray playing cards lay scattered across the ground, and the coffee table was wet with coffee stains, but the office was otherwise pretty unremarkable.
As Klavier made his way deeper into the office, he trod extremely carefully and kept a close watch on the floor ahead. If he wasn’t cautious about where he stepped, then he could easily—
“Prosecutor Gavin.”
Klavier jumped a bit and whirled around, searching for the source of the voice. But the office was still deserted, as far as he could tell. Not a person in sight. “Where are you?”
“Above you.”
He craned his neck up, towards the roof, and spotted an air vent connected to the top of the wall. Beyond the grate, peering at Klavier from above, was a pair of tiny glimmering red eyes.
“Gott, you’re terrifying sometimes,” Klavier sighed, leaning against the wall and grinning.
“Thanks.” The vent cover was suddenly yanked inwards, and a four-inch man emerged from the opening he’d created. A borrower, they said they were called—a tiny person living secretly in the walls of human homes. And this one was shorter than Klavier’s own hand. “It helps that you’re easy to scare.”
“You wound me, Apollo.”
Apollo grinned. He reached for something out of Klavier’s sight and shuffled his arms around before he emerged from the vent overhead, holding a crooked paper clip and a thread bundle. Using the paper clip as a makeshift grappling hook, Apollo slid down the thread towards the shelf below and landed right in front of Klavier’s nose. “So, what brings you here? A case?”
“Not quite,” Klavier replied. He held up a paper bag that he’d been concealing behind his back. “I brought lunch. Apparently, Herr Wright is concerned about your eating habits.”
“Oh?” Apollo seemed genuinely surprised. He leaned over the edge of the shelf to see the baggy of fast food dangling from Klavier’s right hand. “McNaldo’s? Aw, you didn’t bring any rich people food?”
Klavier gagged at the thought. “Ach, you mean you’d rather have drive-thru sushi instead of quality hamburgers? You’re a disgusting creature, Herr Forehead.”
Apollo smirked. “I’ve eaten garbage before, Prosecutor Gavin. I can handle some sketchy seafood.” Klavier laughed in reply at the coy remark. But Apollo must have thought he’d made some sort of social faux-pas—he immediately backpedalled and apologized. “S–sorry. What I mean to say is… I’d love some burgers. Thank you.”
…Wait. Was Apollo being serious? Is this why Herr Wright wanted me to buy him lunch?
Klavier took a step towards the sofa, flinching slightly when he felt Apollo’s feet land atop his shoulder. The borrower’s tiny hands gripped Klavier’s jacket collar as they made their way across the room. Klavier was careful not to move too quickly and jostle Apollo from his perch.
“I brought fries, too,” Klavier explained, setting the bag atop the side table, gingerly avoiding the remnant coffee stains, “and some of those apple pastries with icing on them. Hopefully, those are to your taste.”
Apollo clambered down Klavier’s sleeve, using the folds in the leather as footholds until he landed by the bag with only a slight stumble. “Fries? Like, the finger-looking things? Sure, I’ll have some.”
“…You’ve never had fries?”
“Nope. Mr. Wright doesn’t buy them much. And, uh…” Apollo shifted nervously, avoiding Klavier’s gaze. Whatever he was about to say, Apollo suddenly decided against it and dropped the subject. “…Just hand me a fry. I’m hungry.”
Klavier opened his mouth to ask what was on Apollo’s mind, but he thought better of it. He stuck his hand into the paper bag and brought a small cup of fries into the open. It might’ve just been a trick of the light, but Klavier swore that Apollo’s eyes shone eagerly for a split second before he tempered his apparent excitement. “Help yourself.”
Apollo immediately snagged a smaller fry from the edge of the cup and carried it to an empty patch of tabletop. The fry was too big for him to eat in one bite, so he nibbled intensely on one end, the other half drooping limply into his lap. Klavier cringed when he realized Apollo’s pants would get all greasy, but Apollo didn’t seem to care much.
Once Apollo began eating, Klavier continued to empty the paper bag of its contents. He brought out two burgers, an apple pastry, a small pile of napkins, and some ketchup packets, among other utensils that the restaurant included with their meal. He shoved most of the assorted objects aside so he could prop his elbows on the table.
Apollo was halfway through his first mouthful of food when he suddenly pointed at something lying near Klavier’s elbow. “Hey, what’s that?”
“Huh?”
“The sharp stick. What is it?”
Klavier glanced down at the spot Apollo was pointing towards. Between the napkins and plastic fork, Klavier saw the so-called sharp stick that Apollo was staring so intensely at. “A toothpick. I think they just started including them with the cutlery.”
“Toothpick…? Is that what it's called?” Apollo sauntered over to the toothpick and plucked it from the pile with both hands, turning it around to investigate all sides. His eyes were wide and curious as he carefully pressed his finger against the pointed ends to test their sharpness. “Can I, uh…” Apollo trailed off, his face flushing red with embarrassment. “...Can I have it?”
Did he want… the toothpick? Klavier blinked at the odd request. He wasn’t sure why Apollo was so interested in a glorified twig, but he saw no reason not to let the borrower claim it for himself. “Of course. I don’t need it.”
Apollo grinned, slinging the toothpick over his shoulder. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“What do you, er… need it for?” Klavier was hesitant about asking, given how awkward and reserved Apollo could be about his private life, but his curiosity had gotten the best of him.
“I could use it for a bunch of things,” Apollo replied, adjusting his grip on the toothpick to hold it better. It was almost comical to see a man holding a toothpick that was half his height, but Klavier restrained himself for the sake of Apollo’s dignity. “My dagger is breaking on me. Maybe I’ll use this to fix it up.”
“Ah, so you’re a bit of a handyman!”
Apollo shrugged halfheartedly, looking down at his feet. “I guess so? It’s not exactly a hobby, though… It's just stuff that needs to get done.”
Klavier’s grin fell. “I see,” he replied. “Well, still… I admire your resourcefulness.”
With only a little bit of hesitation, Apollo smiled.
They ate in silence for about two minutes before they descended into an argument.
Klavier couldn’t even remember what started it—he supposed that debates were just their default conversation type. Lawyers must be more prone to arguing.
The argument wasn’t tense, though—just a rousing discussion about the latest local court ruling, or eccentric new hires at the Prosecutor’s Office. They fell into an easy rhythm, poking and prodding each other back and forth.
And while they argued, Apollo had pulled out a small dagger, made with the tip of a breakaway knife and a twig handle. He ripped the tip away from the twig handle and began affixing it to his toothpick. Klavier watched with rapt attention, captivated by Apollo’s tiny hands, expertly weaving thread around the knife blade.
Klavier kept biting back the question burning at his tongue. Was it rude to ask such a strange thing? Would Apollo be offended? Should Klavier just forget it and ask Phoenix later?
He couldn’t take it. Klavier popped the question and hoped he wouldn’t regret it.
“How did you do it?”
Apollo stopped working to raise an eyebrow at Klavier’s question. “What do you mean?”
“You lived in Kristoph’s office building for many years.” Klavier spoke slowly, studying Apollo’s reactions. At the mention of Kristoph’s name, Apollo immediately folded in on himself and bit his lip. “It’s just… my brother is very observant. I find it hard to believe you were never caught sneaking around.”
Klavier cringed at his own words—maybe he was unfairly projecting his own anxieties onto Apollo.
“…I’m a borrower,” Apollo said carefully, his eyes piercing through Klavier’s skull. “Staying hidden is kind of my thing.”
“But how did you survive? I can’t imagine there are borrower grocery stores. How did you get food? Or clothes?”
Apollo shuffled awkwardly under Klavier’s gaze. “I borrowed things,” he said, his voice quiet and hesitant. He shuffled again, and his eyes flickered away. “Stuff that nobody would care about. Thread, buttons, pieces of fabric… anything I could get my hands on.”
Klavier’s eyebrows shot up, and he gasped softly. “Oh gott, Apollo…”
“D–don’t do that, Gavin,” Apollo spat. He completely avoided looking Klavier in the eye. “Stop pitying me… a–and don’t look at me like that! I don’t… I–I…” He trailed off, shook his head, and cursed. “Nevermind. Forget I said anything.”
“I’m sorry, Herr Forehead,” Klavier whispered. He was taken aback by Apollo’s defensiveness and scrambled to correct himself. “I didn’t mean to offend—”
Apollo heaved a sigh. He stood up, abandoning his french fry on the tabletop. The newly-made dagger hung limply from his free hand. “…Thanks for the food, Gavin,” he said sadly. “I’ll catch you later.”
But before Apollo could take a step to leave, Klavier blurted two words out that made the borrower stop in his tracks.
“Teach me!”
Apollo’s face contorted. His apparent anger morphed into confusion, and he suddenly looked puzzled and unsure. “…Teach you what?”
“This whole, ah… borrowing thing.” Klavier gestured to Apollo’s handmade dagger. “Show me how you do it.”
“…You want to learn how to borrow?”
It finally dawned on Klavier just how silly his outburst must’ve sounded. Asking a borrower to teach a human being borrowing techniques? Apollo must’ve thought Klavier was teasing him, given the look on the little guy’s face.
“Ja.” Klavier’s reply was earnest and wholehearted, and Apollo’s shoulders untensed. “I want to learn to borrow. Teach me?”
“…You’re human.” Apollo spoke plainly and carefully as if Klavier wasn’t aware of that incredibly obvious fact. “You don’t need to borrow anything. Humans have stores to buy from.”
Klavier nodded along, in total agreement, but he pushed again. “I’m curious, I suppose. I’ve never met a borrower before I met you. If you would indulge me, I’d love to learn more about your day-to-day life.”
Apollo was quiet for a moment, processing the incredibly odd request. Klavier’s arms were stiff at his sides, and suddenly his breath was shallow and forced. Then, finally, Apollo shrugged. “Sure, if you really want to. I don’t see the point, though…”
Klavier smiled crookedly. “Danke schön. I appreciate it.”
After setting down the toothpick, Apollo stood straight, glancing around the office. His eyes apparently landed on something of interest, and he suddenly made a running start towards the end of the table. He soared for about five seconds before landing roughly on the carpet below.
Klavier flinched—that must’ve been a painful landing. He bent down to assist the tiny borrower, but Apollo held up his hand and smiled. “Relax, Gavin. I’m fine. The table’s only a foot tall.”
Only one foot? To a borrower like Apollo, who was only four inches tall, the gap would’ve seemed like ten feet. But somehow, the little borrower seemed to be completely unharmed. Klavier wondered if borrowers were more capable of falling from great heights, compared to their larger human counterparts.
Unfazed by his rough landing, Apollo simply brushed his legs off and began scouring the carpet, running his hands through the cotton threads.
“When I borrow, I keep an eye out for materials I can craft tools with.” To demonstrate his point, Apollo grasped a loose thread of carpet and tore it away from the floor. The fabric dangled loosely from his palm. “I can use this for binding. Or if I weave a bunch of them together, I can make rope.”
Klavier bent down to get a better look. To someone his size, such a short line of cotton wouldn’t be very useful. But when Klavier imagined himself as a borrower—ten times smaller—he could immediately recognize the uses for such an inconspicuous material.
As Klavier pondered this, Apollo continued to walk along. He rummaged through the carpet some more, perhaps searching for loose threads, but his hand brushed against a small item hidden in the depths of the cotton—a small plastic bead.
“Hey, check this out.” Apollo plucked the bead up with both hands and held it up for Klavier to see. It was cheaply made and very dirty, the pink sheen tarnished by dust and grime. But a grin made its way onto Apollo’s face despite this.
Klavier tilted his head. “A bead?”
“I can use this for a bunch of things,” Apollo explained, flipping it around in his hands to inspect every side. “If I weave some carpet threads and combine them with my toothpick, I can make a wheel.”
“A wheel! How clever!” Klavier exclaimed. Apollo’s ingenuity was unsurprising—Klavier already knew how intelligent the borrower was—but he was hugely impressed all the same. “Let me try!”
Apollo laughed aloud, taking a seat on the carpet and gesturing for Klavier to look around. “Okay, fine, your turn. Give it a shot.”
Klavier nodded firmly, rising to his full height to get a better perspective of the office. His eyes were nowhere as keen or observant as Apollo’s, but he still scanned the room as carefully as he could, searching for anything a borrower would find useful.
Apollo watched silently as Klavier wandered to the far wall, where Phoenix Wright’s desk sat. Klavier ran his hands absently along the surface of the desk, pushing past papers and pencils and desk toys. There must be something useful here…
Then, suddenly, Klavier let out a sharp gasp and grinned widely. “Achtung! Perfekt!”
“What?” Apollo asked. “What did you find?”
“A paper clip! I’m sure I could… hmm…” Klavier trailed off, his face scrunching up thoughtfully. Then, as yet another brilliant idea struck him, he snapped his fingers and snatched up a nearby pair of scissors. Apollo was subjected to an agonizing wait while Klavier fiddled with the paperclip out of his view, twisting it around and cutting it into pieces.
“…Herr Forehead, may I have that thread for a moment?”
Apollo blinked, glancing at the thread still dangling from his hand, and nodded hesitantly. Klavier rushed over and loomed over Apollo, carefully plucking the thread with a thumb and forefinger. He looped the thread around the mangled paperclip, tied the ends together, and laughed heartily. “Ja, baby! This is how we do it!”
Before Apollo could ask what Klavier created, the human’s massive hands descended from overhead, swallowing his entire field of view. Apollo couldn’t help but flinch and squeeze his eyes shut as something slipped over his neck and onto his shoulders. The sudden weight of it—whatever it was—caused his knees to buckle, and he promptly fell to the ground.
“It’s a necklace,” Klavier explained, looking incredibly proud of himself. “Just like mine!”
Apollo rolled onto his back and glanced down at the object around his neck. Klavier had fashioned the mangled paperclip into a large G shape and attached it to the thread. It was a cheap but striking imitation of Klavier’s signature piece of jewelry: his beloved Gavinners necklace.
There was only one issue.
“It’s nice, Gavin,” Apollo said carefully, “but it’s too big for me.”
Klavier’s smile fell immediately. “Oh.”
“You had a pretty good idea, though.” Apollo pushed the thread off his neck, letting the necklace drop roughly to the ground. “Paperclips are great for making a lot of things. A hook, maybe a weap—”
“It’s not fair.”
Apollo frowned at the interruption. “What’s not fair?”
“You never get anything nice.” Klavier blew a strand of hair out of his face and pouted. “No fancy clothes, no comfy furniture…” He paused to glance down at the necklace, shed from Apollo’s neck and abandoned on the floor. “…and no jewelry.”
Apollo rolled his eyes. “I don’t need jewelry, Gavin. It’s too much of a hassle to get ahold of.”
“But that’s so… trübselig.” Klavier plucked the poorly-made necklace up and scowled at it. “It’s so sad. You deserve to have nice things without compromising your well-being.”
“I mean…” Apollo trailed off. He wasn’t sure how to address Klavier’s concerns—obtaining pretty jewelry wasn’t exactly a top priority for borrowers. “If it makes you feel better, I already have everything I need. Food, shelter—”
“You have the bare minimum.” Klavier’s words were bitter like he wanted to spit them out instead of saying them aloud. “And you have to work so hard for it. That's unfair.”
Apollo didn’t really have a reply. He supposed his life must’ve seemed pretty awful, compared to the lives of his human friends. If he were constantly surrounded by luxury and riches, maybe the borrower lifestyle would seem far worse than it actually was.
Klavier’s face fell, and he heaved a long sigh. “I just want you to be happy, Herr Forehead,” he whispered. “Is that too much to ask?”
“Hold on,” Apollo interjected, cocking his head to one side. “What makes you think I’m not happy?”
Klavier fell silent.
“Yeah, I don’t have much stuff. My furniture is a bit ratty and my shirt smells like moths.” Apollo’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “But I have lots to be thankful for. I’ve got Trucy, Mr. Wright, Ema… and you.”
“…Me?”
“Sure. You come to visit me all the time. Mr. Wright is always flying off to Europe, and he can’t exactly take me along. And Trucy just… disappears sometimes.” Apollo folded his arms and craned his neck to look Klavier in the eye. “I like the food you bring, and I like arguing with you.”
Klavier bit his lip, still silent, and Apollo managed a bright smile.
“I don’t need jewelry. You guys… my friends… you’re more than enough.”
Klavier barked out a curt laugh. Suddenly, his usual easygoing grin had returned, and he was back to his normal self. “I didn’t expect you to get all sentimental on me, Herr Forehead,” he teased. “I’m surprised you’re capable of being cheesy.”
“Yeah, well, at least I don’t write dorky love songs,” Apollo sneered in reply.
“Still… would you be opposed to me buying you something nice?” Klavier’s words were laced with hesitation, and he seemed almost a bit shy. “I promise to make sure it’s the right size this time.”
“If you want to, yeah.” The borrower smirked and laughed. “As long as it doesn’t have your stupid logo on it.”
Klavier gasped in offence. “You don’t like my logo?!”
“Not really.”
“But it’s a very artful logo, Herr Forehead. It’s understated and minimalist, while still capturing the core essence of the band!”
Apollo stared up at Klavier incredulously. “…It’s just the letter G, man. It’s not exactly high art.”
“I suppose I’ll have to teach you about high art, my little friend.” Klavier winked, and despite himself, Apollo’s face flushed and he looked away. “I’ll turn you into a diva one day! Just you wait!”
Apollo rolled his eyes and scoffed, his face still beet red. “Fat chance.”