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He cradled his head in his hands, as if trying to distract himself with the feeling of his silky hair running through his fingers.
His brain must've been swelling or something awful, because his skull felt as if it were about to implode. The heartbeat between his ears was deafening. He felt warm all over. He felt like he was on fire; like his skin was sewn from the tailcoat of Satan’s robes.
It felt stupid to be thinking “it’s all happening so fast” when in reality, there was nothing going on.
There was only the low hum of the air conditioner in his apartment, happily murmuring away as it performed its only duty. The only other sound was a repetitive pinging sound that indicated another message from a worried friend.
Apollo…
He wanted to tell Apollo that he was wasting his time. He wanted to send him a snappy, snazzy message that told him that he was doing "just fine". He wished for nothing more than to go back-and-forth with the cute defense attorney for hours, kicking his feet like a giddy high-schooler - phone in hand, as a warm smile made his way across his face.
But he couldn’t.
It had only been a few days since the trial.
Five days since Kristoph Gavin had been convicted for murder.
It had been five days since Klavier Gavin had seen his brother.
None of what had happened had been his fault. Everyone had reminded him of that as soon as the trial had ended. He hadn’t been Kristoph's accomplice, he hadn't encouraged it - hell, he hadn’t even known about it. Everyone told him he shouldn’t feel guilty. Some things that were just out of his control.
As he ran his calloused fingers through his hair for the fourteenth time, he kept his gaze fixed on the wrinkled bed sheets under him.
The thing was, he didn’t feel guilty. Maybe he had been angry at first, but he couldn't even feel that anymore. He should feel disgusted, horrified at everything his brother had done.
But that was just it, wasn't it?
The one thing he couldn't understand.
The reason he wanted to smother himself with a pillow.
He was just sad.
God, he was so sad. The kind of sad that made your chest hurt.
Knowing that Kristoph was a convicted murderer of at least two people didn’t change the fact that he was still his brother. Not only was he his brother, but Kristoph represented everything that had gotten Klavier where he was now.
When he was struggling with depression during law school, Kristoph was there, with a bottle of prescription pills and a motivational speech to wash them down with.
When he fell out with his band for the 30th time, Kristoph was there, encouraging him, working him through communicating with people.
Kristoph had suddenly transformed into a monster in front of everyone in court.
But to Klavier, he was still Kristoph. His brother.
The one who still believed in him and loved him when their mom all but vanished from their lives.
The one who got him through school.
Kristoph had always seemed so… Untouchable.
A gleaming beacon of hope that Klavier always turned to whenever he needed guidance.
Seeing all of that fall apart in front of him… Watching as his brother snarled at everyone who opposed him that day… It didn’t feel real.
None of it felt real.
Maybe it wasn’t.
Maybe this was just a side-effect of him neglecting his daily dosage of antidepressants.
That had to be it.
It couldn’t have been… It couldn’t have been Kristoph that day.
This was all a dream, something his psyche had come up with to torment him with.
In an instant, Klavier was shuffling around, fumbling for his antidepressant medicine bottle.
The rattling of the bottle was deafening in the stillness of the apartment. Klavier shook out a few pills, not bothering to count, and threw his head back with the medicine as fast as he could without choking.
He was dangerously close to choking, as being on the verge of tears had made his throat feel like it was being restricted with a noose.
Klavier took an extra pill for good measure. One could never be too sure with these things.
He half-expected Kristoph to appear out of nowhere, telling him he was being silly and that he needed to lie down and get some rest.
But he didn’t.
The medicine just needs some time to kick in. That was it. Any second now, and his brother would manifest and rub Klavier’s back until he fell asleep.
Kristoph would always be there for him.
Just a few more minutes.
Klavier realized he was staring wide-eyed, expectantly, at an empty room.
He was suddenly aware of his breathing, loud and ragged.
It was just him.
Him in an empty apartment.
There was no Kristoph.
Not anymore.
Klavier curled into himself, bringing his knees up to his chin.
He took a deep breath and began to sob.
He sat there, sobbing and sobbing for what seemed like hours. Maybe the night was over and a new day had dawned. Not for him.
There would be no new day for him.
What else was left for him to do except restlessly apologize to all the people his brother had hurt in the hopes that he might find reconciliation?
In a brief second, Klavier’s arm had shot out and grabbed his antidepressant medicine bottle once more.
Surely another pill couldn’t hurt.
Kristoph always told him to take his medicine.
Whenever cases were going awry, whenever he thought about Dad, or whenever things just got a little too stressful, there stood the mighty orange pill bottle. It shimmered with the answers to all his problems.
His friend and bandmate betrayed his trust and almost killed him onstage?
Klavier popped in another pill.
No problem!
The man he was all-but obsessed with destroyed any semblance of stability Klavier had in front of the court?
In went another antidepressant.
Rock on!
His brother betrayed everyone and had a psychotic breakdown in court in which he admitted all the horrible crimes he had committed and testified that he did it all for Klavier’s sake?
Klavier’s hands were too shaky to get another pill, so he held the bottle to his lips and let the rest of the pills fall into his mouth.
He swallowed with difficulty, the arising tears tightening the noose on his neck.
Klavier’s body told him— begged him— to find some water to drink, but he refused.
Until the pills started working, he wouldn’t do shit.
At least that’s what he thought until they started working.
Suddenly his head was like jelly, sloshing around uneasily within his suddenly paper-thin skull. The colors all around him pulsed and grew brighter and more vibrant. Klavier didn’t even realize he was laughing, because he didn’t feel happy. The ‘laughing’ felt more like his ribs were heaving agonizingly within his torso.
His eyelids grew heavy and he couldn’t tell if he had closed them or if he was still seeing. Maybe it was neither. Maybe his dreams had invaded his waking mind. Bright designs danced across his vision, heat cultivated behind his ears. Something was very wrong.
Something is very wrong, brother , he thought to himself, for his mouth was too heavy to speak.
There was no response to his supposed statement, and he looked up. For a moment, there was no prancing colors and lights.
It was just Klavier in his room.
He stared at the full-length mirror hanging on the wall opposite him.
A tired, bedraggled Klavier stared back at him.
Was this how it had always been?
Surely this wasn’t the confident, radiant prosecutor who was always playing air-guitar in court? The lawyer who had surprised everyone in law school by graduating years before his time, playing the part of the ‘dumb blonde’ while he worked overtime to finish his assignments. This couldn’t be the same man who sat and listened to anyone who needed a friend— Trucy, Apollo, even Herr Edgeworth at times.
He barely recognized himself.
He drew closer, noting the lines of sleeplessness that marred his usually glowing features. Dark brown streaked through the roots of his hair. Sickly blonde strands stuck out in wiry coils, his clothes were a wrinkled mess of the maroon-colored jacket and black undershirt that he hadn’t changed out of in who knows how long.
He reached a hand out to the mirror.
Kristoph reached back.
Klavier woke up just in time to catch himself from falling over.
Had he just passed out? Had he been awake in the first place?
He looked down at his hands but couldn’t really process what he was seeing. All he could process was the pain. Everything hurt. All the organs beneath his ribs, his poor brain pounding and pulsing within his head - his limbs felt heavy and sore. The veins in his eyes throbbed uneasily.
Maybe he would just lie down.
He could use some rest.
Take your medicine, then get some sleep, brother.
Hm. Kristoph’s voice.
“I did what you said,” Klavier’s voice was broken. “I took the pills.” He stumbled backwards onto his bed.
Good. Sleep.
“It’s time for bed already?”
Remember what I did for us, brother. You owe me this much.
“Ja,” Klavier laid his head down. "You're right."
I'm always right.