Chapter Text
The conversation was taking way longer than it should be. Klavier wished he still had his flip phone, if only so he could slam it shut.
“Prosecutor Gavin, sir...there’s, uh, one last thing we need to sort out.”
He bit back an irritated sigh. “And what is that, Detective?”
“Your brother’s dog, uh...Vongole? The foster family wants to know if you’re going to take her in.”
He massaged his temples with his free hand. “Is it urgent?”
“Well, that depends. They told me they grew very attached to her, and, uh...they’d like to keep her. But we have to check with you first, since you’re next of kin.”
He stiffened, checking the time on his phone. “Ah. I...yes, I will take her. I’ll take her today, actually. Let them know I’ll be on my way shortly, ja? Danke.”
He hung up, staring out his office window with his arms crossed.
He liked dogs well enough. He just didn’t really understand Kristoph’s attachment to his dog, and he really didn’t understand so-called “dog people" who dressed them up in sweaters and such. Ask seventeen-year-old Klavier from his very first interview in Teeny Bop magazine: he declared a preference for cats when given the choice. He probably still would, in fact. Herr Forehead’s cat was pretty cute.
Save for Daryan’s Rottweiler, Angel, he was never around dogs much growing up. Once the Gavinners hit it big, though, she was taken in by his older sister. Angel didn’t always live up to her name, so she wasn’t exceptionally suited for life on a tour bus, anyway.
“Don’t think about Daryan,” he said to his empty office, scowling. He could worry about him later. He had another call to make first.
As was to be expected, it almost went to voicemail.
“...This is Skye.”
“Good afternoon, Fräulein. I have a small favor to ask.”
“Oh. It’s you. Make it quick, fop.”
“Wait, you don’t have my number—?” He scoffed. “Tch. Never mind. I’m picking up my brother’s dog from her foster family, but my beloved hog is obviously not the proper means of transport. Can I get a ride from you, Fräulein?”
“...Maybe. Can you be ready in 10 minutes?”
“That’s perfect. Danke schön. See you then.” He ended the call and tipped his head back, staring at the blank white ceiling. For once, he was grateful that there wasn’t any noise.
“Mind if I ask you something, Gavin?” Ema said. An open bag of chocolate Snackoos was crammed into the cupholder.
“Go ahead.”
“Why didn’t you take her in the first place?”
Klavier tried his best to look offended. “Why, I was on tour, of course. Surely you remember the—”
“‘Guilty As Charged’ tour...yeah, I know a thing or two about that.” She remained unimpressed. No qualms about conducting business as usual, thankfully. “But why now?”
“It’s not like my brother’s coming back,” he replied bluntly, looking out onto the road.
“No, I-I know. Sorry. That was—”
“Don’t worry about it, Fräulein.”
“Gavin, I...” Ema kept her expression fairly neutral. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Et tu, Skye?” Klavier shook his head and fiddled with the radio. “Nein. I don’t feel like talking. Let’s rock, shall we?”
She didn’t push it. To his disappointment, not one Gavinners song played for the rest of the trip. Eventually, they found themselves in front of a blue two-story house a short distance from the beach, complete with a well-manicured front lawn and a porch swing.
Ema let out a low whistle. “I don’t know, Gavin...if I were a Golden Retriever, I’d kind of want to stay here.”
Klavier glowered at her.
She threw her hands up in surrender. “...Kidding! Yeesh.”
He sighed, double-checking his appearance in the sun visor mirror. “Just...wait here, Fräulein. This won’t take long.”
“No problem.”
As soon as he rang the doorbell, he heard Vongole barking.
A pretty redhead answered the door. “Oh my—hi! I’m Petra Foster! Wow, it’s so nice to meet you. I didn’t know you’d be coming!”
He jutted his head out. “Excuse me?”
“No, wait! What I meant was...I thought you’d send your personal assistant or something!” Petra giggled. “S-Sorry, I had a huge Gavinners phase in college, so I’m kind of freaking out right now. Like, I cannot actually believe you’re standing here.”
Just a phase? Klavier flipped his hair over his shoulder and forced a laugh. “Oh. Hah...nein. It’s...it’s just me.” He made a mental note to send her an autographed merch bundle later.
She waved him inside. “Come in, come in! You must be so excited to see Vongole! Pretty sure she went into the sunroom with my wife.”
Klavier nodded impassively as he strolled down the hallway. On the walls were photos of Petra and her wife on various adventures. Here are the Fosters at a waterfall! Now here we are at the beach! It was no wonder why they wanted to keep her.
“Vongole isn’t the first dog we’ve fostered, but she’s definitely the one who warmed up the fastest,” Petra said. “You’ll have no problem with her.”
Before Klavier could think of how to respond, she slid open the glass door. The sunroom was a cozy, colorful space; sunlight bathed the plants that hung in front of the windows. Vongole began barking up a storm again as she raced up to greet Klavier. A tall woman with dark braids looked up from her comfy chair.
“The Klavier Gavin in my house? I literally never thought I’d see the day.” She gave him a kind smile and a solid handshake. “I’m Kat, Petra’s wife. My goodness, she would not stop talk—”
“Eek! Kathy!” Petra interjected. “I’m going to grab Vongole’s stuff now.”
Right. Her stuff.
“Thank you,” he called after her, jamming his hands into his pockets.
”...How are you doing?” Kat asked, her eyes filled with concern.
“I’m okay,” he said. Vongole paced excitedly between them.
“Let us know if there’s anything else we can do for you, okay?”
“Okay. Thank you.” he replied, cool and collected. “Vongole is a very happy girl, ja?”
He tried to focus on petting her, but there was a headache invading the space between his eyes, and now more than anything he wanted to bolt out of this perfect home, close the blackout curtains in his bedroom, and wallow in the dark indefinitely.
“—hate to see her go, but we know she’ll be so happy with you. I mean, what dog wouldn’t want to be spoiled by a rockstar, am I right, Mr. Gavin? Er...Prosecutor Gavin?”
“Just ‘Klavier’ is fine,” he said politely.
Petra returned shortly after lugging a cardboard box. It was filled to the brim, and she explained what everything was as she unpacked it. In the span of five minutes, he knew more about Vongole than ever.
“I appreciate you getting all of this for her,” Klavier said as he examined a bottle of anti-itch dog shampoo.
“A good amount of this stuff came with her from your brother’s house, actually,” Kat said. “He had a huge binder with everything we needed to know about her.”
“What?” Klavier blinked up at them. “Is that...here? I don’t see it.”
“Oh no, I almost forgot! Let me grab it for you.” Petra dashed out of the room again. His phone buzzed in his pocket.
[Det. Skye, 1:49 p.m.]: All ok?
[Klavier Gavin, 1:50 p.m.]: yes
[Klavier Gavin, 1:50 p.m.]: will b out soon
He was writing a reminder to buy more Snackoos for her when there was a resounding thump on the side table. Klavier stared at the binder and placed his hand on the front cover, as if to check that it was really there.
“Thanks for the reminder, honey,” Petra said to her wife. “I think that’s everything. Ready to go, Lele?”
Vongole barked and spun around in a circle.
“Aw, Lele, we love you,” Kat cooed. “Have fun together! It was nice meeting you, Klavier. Take care, okay?”
“You as well. Thank you for everything.”
Petra fastened Vongole’s leash. “I’ll walk you out. Would you mind taking the box?”
“Not at all,” he replied, hefting the box into his arms. His headache threatened to bore a hole through his skull.
“I’m sorry that it’s so heavy,” Petra said.
“That’s alright, Frau Foster,” Klavier replied with his most dazzling smile. “Just goes to show how loved she is, ja?”
He couldn’t stop looking at it. His dinner, some frozen pasta thing he took out of the microwave a solid thirty seconds too early, sat untouched on the counter. He was alone at the kitchen island, hunched over the binder.
Everything was meticulously typed up, tabbed by topic, and preserved in dust-resistant plastic sleeves. Classic Kristoph. The inside cover had a photo of Vongole sitting calmly in the grass, looking just past the camera.
He flipped the page, poring over every word.
She has a delicate constitution. You must follow the diet recommended by her veterinarian, which is outlined below. It consists of high-quality proteins and healthy fats to help her maintain her athletic build and flawless coat.
This was evidence that Kristoph had loved something, wasn’t it?
She is to be taken to the pet groomer every six weeks. Their contact information is listed below. Between appointments, her coat must be brushed regularly to facilitate shedding and eliminate tangles. You must start with the brush with the pink handle (see attached photo).
Wasn’t it?
She is to eat breakfast at 7:00 a.m. and receive dinner at 6:00 p.m sharp. Ensure that she gets the amount exactly as marked on the measuring cup provided.
Klavier flipped through the binder faster and faster, as if he’d find an answer hidden between the lines.
What are you even searching for?
The only photo his brother had chosen to take to his cell in solitary confinement was one of her. That was his sole reminder of the life he had beyond those four walls.
Was that really all Kristoph cared to remember?
Klavier couldn’t forget the Kristoph who gifted him his first guitar songbook when he was eight years old, or the Kristoph who bought him the outfit he wore to his first album release party. Where was he? Where was his big brother?
One of the plastic sleeves crinkled between his fingers. Klavier really wanted to laugh. What exactly was he expecting, some heartfelt apology letter to fall out from between the pages? Dear Klavier, So sorry for betraying you and everything you thought you knew about me. Love, Kristoph.
He put his head down. A wave of nausea rolled over him.
You're spinning out of control, Kristoph’s voice taunted. Even in death, he still had a hold on him. Figures.
He lifted his head just enough to spot his phone.
My control...or yours?
He could send Herr Forehead a message. Or take Detective Skye up on her offer to talk. His thumb hovered over the call button. Something stopped him.
Not long before the murder of Zak Gramarye, Kristoph had invited him over for dinner. Vongole napped at his feet.
“You know, Klavier, there really is nothing like the companionship of a dog,” Kristoph said as he cut into his steak.
He took a leisurely sip of his drink. “Hah. I’m too busy making friends with people, Kristoph.”
“Suit yourself. But a dog’s love is pure and true. Can you say the same for those you call your friends?”
He shoved his phone away just as a sharp pain ran down his calf.
“Ow!” He twisted around to see the dog scratching his leg. “Vongole! Wha—?”
She barked sharply, one after another. Once she saw that she’d captured his attention, her tail swayed back and forth. Forgetting something, Mister?
His eyes darted to the oven timer. Her dinner was supposed to be served five minutes ago. “Ach! I’m sorry! So sorry, little one.”
He hopped off the barstool and began rooting through the cupboard. It was then, staring at a near-empty bag of first-rate dog food from his dead brother, that something finally snapped inside of him. Tears began welling up in his eyes.
He knelt down dutifully to pour Vongole’s food, double-checking the measuring cup as instructed. She padded right up to his chest and pressed her cool, wet nose all over his neck, sniffing at the collar of his pajama shirt. He wrapped his arms around her.
“Vongole,” he sniffled, whispering into her soft, golden coat. “I’m okay, Vongole. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”