well... it's certainly been awhile.
I'm quite moved by the fact that people still read and enjoy my stories here. I'd really like to thank you all for your support. now that it's been... around seven years since I've last posted to this account, a lot has changed. I'll be attending law school in the fall, and I figured there's really no better time to post an ace attorney fanfic, is there?
I hope you all enjoy. thank you, again.
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October 9th, 2026
As soon as the trial ended, Klavier was gone.
He disappeared in an instant, as though he were scraps of paper scattered to the wind. One moment he was there, and the next Apollo looked up from his briefcase to find the opposing bench abandoned.
At first, Apollo was envious. He felt spent and clammy, like after running the mile in high school. Solitude sounded refreshing and peaceful after the unblinking stare of hundreds of eyes on him, the courtroom waiting in bated breath for him to prove Kristoph wrong. A part of him still couldn't believe what he'd just done— testing an all-new legal system, finding Kristoph guilty yet again.
As he left the courtroom, however, that awful, ugly laughter followed. It rang in Apollo's ears as though from right behind him, as though Kristoph had never left at all.
Apollo was less jealous as he decided it may better be drowned out in conversation— in gushes of praise from Trucy, clinging to his arm with a smile she wore as well as that gaudy silk hat, and the quieter, more cynical nod from Phoenix Wright, acknowledgement that Apollo had done his job well.
Perhaps they spoke to Apollo only because they heard it too, only because some noise had to plaster over the laughter. Apollo thought of the cover tarps he saw on crime scenes, sickly yellow plastic only barely disguising bodies and blood. Sometimes the only way to endure something so visceral, so gruesome, was to put it out of mind.
Apollo didn't know if such a thing were even possible. He'd never met anyone at a crime scene who didn't know precisely what laid under the tarp.
It was only when Trucy's fingers tightened and her eyes shone with concern that Apollo realized he hadn't hidden his alarm very well. He'd been told, by friends and foster parents and every person in-between, that he wore his heart on his sleeve.
He did so despise lying.
"Polly," Trucy's eyes narrowed just slightly. Apollo knew she doesn't need to use any sort of power to tell he was shaken. "You haven't been saying much."
"I'm fine." Apollo answered quickly and simply. He wanted nothing less than for Trucy to worry on his behalf, not after she had just watched the trial of her father's murderer.
"You say that too much! Nobody's fine all the time."
Apollo could say the same to her, but it wasn't the time nor the place. "We don't have to talk about it, Truce."
Apollo didn't want to. He remembered the months after Mr. Gavin's first arrest. They were silent in a way this couldn't possibly be. The office had been dim and empty without him— a lifeless husk, like a zombie lurching forwards with only vague memories of life. Apollo had gathered his things quickly, unable to shake the feeling that he was trespassing. This was a place no person should dwell.
Apollo still woke up at seven-thirty for the next week, ready to dress and come to a job that no longer existed, working for a boss who was no longer there. He wrung out emergency funds and collected interviews for jobs that would never take him— an attorney with one trial's worth of experience, and the most baggage the law world had seen since Phoenix Wright's disbarment.
This time was different, Apollo told himself. This time he had a job. He had a job with lousy pay and too much pro bono work. But he had a job.
Yet even without the threat of homelessness looming over him, the emptiness persisted. Perhaps it was worse, in some ways, the second time, now that old wounds had been re-opened, greeted with a Dead Sea's worth of salt. It only made him wonder if these wounds had ever been healed in the first place, or if they had only been covered in gauze and forgotten about, left to rot away infected.
Apollo hadn't wondered if he was doing the right thing since that first trial. He hadn't wondered if perhaps the prosecution might be right, and his cases were nothing more than bizarre coincidence, and he was pushing blame onto an innocent man.
Kristoph laughed somewhere to his side, breathless and punchy.
"Apollo?"
Apollo blinked wearily as Phoenix Wright's eyes narrowed in study. It was rare to see sincerity and indulgence mix like this on his face.
"Trucy asked if you were alright," he offered in way of explanation. If Apollo didn't know better, he might assume Mr. Wright was trying to perceive him.
Apollo had run out of niceties at this point, too exhausted to respond any longer. His fingers curled around his wrist. "I'm fine. I just need to run to the bathroom."
If Mr. Wright wanted to say anything else, it didn't show on his face. "Alright."
Apollo wasn't as glad as he usually was to escape from the Wrights, now that it meant walking into the silence where that laugh could fester. He couldn't allow Trucy to worry, however, and some time to himself might help.
He hadn't felt like he'd taken a full, deep breath since before the trial.
Apollo felt equal parts relief and dread as he set off down the hallway. It was in some ways easier to be alone, not having to stamp down the curls of nervous energy poking at him, or plaster serenity onto a face where it didn't belong, but now there was nothing between him and the laughter.
It almost sounded louder than in the courtroom. Briefly, Apollo wondered if Kristoph was still here. He must have been lead back to his cell by now, but this was too vivid for mere memory.
Apollo remembered the look on Klavier's face when they first heard it, stricken and raw. He could only imagine how he must be feeling now, after everything.
There had been no inkling Kristoph was involved at all, nor that the truth of that case seven years ago might be uncovered. It had come with no preamble, no warning, and the way Klavier had sweat, eyes wide, was proof enough of that. Apollo had hardly a clue how he continued standing at all, let alone accuse his brother of murder and fraud, living with the knowledge he had acted accessory to that very crime.
Apollo admired Klavier now. It was brave of him to assist with the case, and face Kristoph. It took strength not to crumble when pressed like that, especially since he really seemed to care about Kristoph. Apollo remembered the first time those blue eyes had fallen onto him, sharp like frostbite. He remembered feeling so small he might as well be a child playing lawyer in a parent's clothes.
But it wasn't enough to just be brave. Betrayal was crueler than that, and surviving it harder. It would be easy to presume they were free now, but Apollo knew firsthand that this next part was even worse to endure. There was a loneliness that came with this sort of truth. He remembered the empty moments without Mr. Gavin, the doubt, and the fear.
Apollo made mental note to contact Klavier somehow— stopping by the prosecutor's office, or pulling him aside when next they shared casework. Apollo wasn't much a comfort, but he was an ally. He knew this pain.
And perhaps more than the simple empathy, Apollo wanted nothing more than for Klavier to recover. Rivals as they were, much as Apollo loathed that cocky exterior, something had felt so wrong when Klavier faltered. Apollo hated seeing such weakness on him.
He'd never seen Klavier like this. It was rare enough to see him without his smile— so rare he seemed bare without it— but to see such honest vulnerability was something else entirely. Apollo was so used to his self-assured courtroom rival, a ridiculous man who knew how good he looked, that this new side of him— a side that shook, and covered his ears— didn't feel real. Apollo had to help Klavier.
Apollo was going to pull that darkness out of him.
It seemed that luck was on his side. Apollo paused just before his intended hallway, at the flash of gold before his eyes.
Klavier was a tall man, though even he was dwarfed by the Courthouse's windows. Something about the scene made him look majestic— perhaps the faraway look in his sea blue eyes, or the curve of his strong jawline. The dying sunlight cast him in sharp relief, an echo of the colorful strobe at his concert.
The colors, however, had cast more flatteringly onto his face during the concert. Klavier didn't look ugly— Apollo doubts he ever could, he still had the type of face that sold millions of records— but he did, undeniably, look tired. The briefest dark lingered in gaunt cheeks and just under his eyes, imperceptible except when this close.
"Prosecutor Gavin..."
Apollo's voice cracked at the attempt to remain quiet. He wondered if Klavier could even hear him, in a world with such distant eyes, locking to somewhere just beyond the window.
"Ah, Herr Forehead!"
Apollo blinked in surprise as Klavier moved in, leaning forwards with shining teeth.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" He asked, every bit as bright as in the posters that had dotted his concert. Apollo swallowed.
This was familiar— a grating, cloying sort of familiar, a collection of habits that had always irked Apollo. He remembered well the burn in his chest when Klavier would point out contradictions with that self-satisfied smirk, or toss his hair while speaking in that affected accent, sure to distract.
The malice he usually felt, however, was gone, evaporated like water droplets on a hot stove. Klavier's movements, practiced and fluid, rang nothing but hollow now.
"How quiet you are," Klavier observed for the fiftieth time that day. "Are you always so somber in the face of victory? You would think we would look quite the opposite, nein?"
Whatever Apollo was planning to say disintegrated, as his mouth hung open. Was Klavier really thinking about win records at a time like this?
"You don't feel..." Apollo floundered. Klavier had looked so lost in that courtroom, chin tilted up to hide his blue eyes. Apollo glanced down as his thoughts tumbled about, musty and tangled.
He hardly had a word to put to his own feelings. Anger, that Kristoph had committed such wrongs— at himself, for not realizing it- disgust, and betrayal, and relief, that this was over, and they had won, but something more vulnerable and sad lurking beneath, something that had crawled into his chest the moment he had laid eyes back upon his former boss.
Apollo had only known him for a year. He couldn't imagine what Klavier must be feeling right now, nor what he should feel. As his eyes gave up their search around the room, Apollo settled onto Klavier's face.
The expressions Klavier had worn in the courtroom were long gone— the deep indent of his grimace, and the quiver of his hands. Apollo wondered, briefly, bathing in the glow of Klavier's patient smile, if today's events had truly happened at all, or if it had been a horrible nightmare.
"...I don't know." Apollo said, finally.
Klavier straightened. His fingers toyed with his fringe, pulling at strands to catch the sunlight behind him. "Certainly, it is beyond my place to impose emotion, Herr Forehead, but is it so unbelievable that we should be glad? We found the truth, after all."
They'd found the truth, and too much else... skeletons in the family closet, and a murderer in plain sight.
"Did you know?" Apollo winced before he had even finished the question. Of course Klavier hadn't known. "I mean... did you believe it, when he was arrested the first time?"
Klavier's fingers stilled. "Believe it?"
"You called me the boy who bested your brother." Apollo said. "Not... who found him out."
Klavier's laugh was quiet. "I hardly think such a matter should concern us now. Let the past lie and all that, ja?"
"All we've done today is talk about the past," Apollo heard himself argue back. He hadn't meant to press Klavier in everyday conversation, outside of court, and as his heart began to speed at the faux pas before Klavier merely laughed again.
"Ja, ja. All the more reason to allow it its rest." Klavier closed his eyes. Apollo felt at a loss for words.
It was as though he was speaking to an entirely different person in only a matter of minutes. The Klavier who had kept watch over his back, offering his own arguments with heated flair, who had pressed his fist into the wall and spoken with such brutal honesty, was gone. Apollo was left to talk in circles with this friendly doppelganger, a shiny approximation of the face that showed up on billboards and the sides of buildings.
They were close, so close that Apollo could brush his fingers against Klavier if he so wished, but it still felt like they were millions of miles apart. They had been through so much together, and here Klavier was, speaking to him as though he was a stranger.
It could be that Klavier simply didn't wish to speak with Apollo. He may think them strangers, or close to it. Apollo might be imagining the connection they shared. Klavier, after all, was a charmer and a flirt. He probably smiled like this at everyone.
"You don't have to talk to me. I just feel like we should. I don't know if you—" Apollo took a deep breath, swallowing his presumptions. "I know I don't have anyone else."
"Are we not talking right now, Herr Forehead?" Klavier's beam threatened to swallow his whole face as he leaned closer. "I've been told I am quite the captivating conversation partner... it would not do if you thought me dull."
"I don't think you're dull." There were a grand litany of things Apollo could accuse Klavier of being, but dull was not one of them. "I just..."
The phrase 'don't want you to be alone' died on his lips. How could Klavier Gavin, genius prosecutor and world-famous rockstar, ever be alone?
"I just knew him too," Apollo finished lamely.
Klavier nodded. "An apprentice at his law offices... ja, I remember."
It was friendly, but foreign on his lips, as though he were reciting lines. Apollo couldn't help but feel like behind the smile, Klavier might truly be alone.
"You can come with us," he said, nearly surprising himself. "Trucy and Mr. Wright- we're going to get noodles. To celebrate."
Klavier's chest rose and fell in the moment of silence that lapsed.
"Not that- I know you didn't win, but you said you were glad. You should still celebrate with us." Apollo volunteered.
The next breath in Klavier's chest passed through more slowly.
"Nein," he said. "Nein. I wouldn't intrude, Herr Forehead."
"It isn't intruding if I invited you."
Klavier stepped backwards, with an apologetic smile. "Herr Wright and I are not on the best of terms."
It was Apollo's turn to laugh. "He doesn't hold a grudge."
Klavier's fingers brushed past his bangs, lingering for a moment before his eyes. "And yet, the tragedy of my missing company persists. I am, unfortunately, a popular man."
He had plans right after a murder trial? Apollo had his doubts. They hadn't known what time court would adjourn.
"Prosecutor Gavin-"
"Ach, Herr Forehead, Herr Forehead," Klavier batted his hand from side to side. "Achtung. I like a little bit of a chase, but too much persistence is so... vulgar."
Apollo could feel himself flush bright red. Usually Trucy was an effective buffer from Klavier's teasing, but now he was only more aware of how alone he was.
"It's not like that!" He said hotly, feeling more so than usual as though he had a 'kick me' sign stuck to his back. He wouldn't put it past Mr. Wright.
Apollo had never noticed before how much Klavier laughed, light and musical. It felt all too wrong in the harsh light of the courtroom lobby, with the echoes of Kristoph's voice ringing in his ears.
Klavier's laugh was just so different.
"I just meant... you can talk to me, you know?" The suggestion felt weak, pushed from Apollo's lips while he still looked down at the floor. He knew he'd said it before. He wouldn't blame Klavier for repeating his same response, but he felt lost.
"About dinner? I am a gentleman, I shall allow you to set the date," Klavier's voice was still as smooth and even as ever, but it only made Apollo more annoyed.
His chin snapped upwards, meeting Klavier's eyes with his burning own. "Not about dinner! About..."
Just as soon as it had come to him, his voice died. His anger persisted, however, bubbling in his stomach as he kept steady eye contact. If Apollo could beam his thoughts into Klavier's head like this, he would.
Why was Klavier acting like this? Why couldn't he give Apollo a straight answer? How could he poke and prod with such a shiny smile, only minutes after watching his brother found guilty for murder?
Klavier balked at the intensity. He turned his head to the side again, brushing his fingers through his bangs.
"It is alright, Herr Forehead," he said. "You needn't be so concerned."
Apollo didn't need his bracelet to squeeze to be certain Klavier was lying. Kristoph's laughter echoed somewhere in the distance.
"Don't you hear it?" he heard himself ask, a whisper, as though he was sharing a terrible secret.
"Hear what?" Klavier said, and if Apollo's bracelet reacted, he didn't notice for the tight warmth of an arm squeezed around his shoulders.
"Herr Forehead," Klavier's face was suddenly far too close, butting in over Apollo's shoulder. His smile was brighter than ever, so near, as though he might swallow Apollo whole. "Truly, your concern is flattering- but I assure you, I would agree to a date even before such honeyed words."
"Can you stop it?!" Apollo hissed, frustration coming to a boiling point. This wasn't the old Klavier he wanted back. "Why can't you take anything seriously-"
He paired the words with a shove— his hands planted on Klavier's chest, focused only on getting him off— but quickly, Apollo found that he had underestimated the idiot's lean. Klavier was much taller than Apollo, but anyone would stumble when pushed from such a delicate balance, and stumble Klavier did, right into a decorative vase by the closest wall.
"Oh no." Apollo's hands flew back as soon as the crackle of glass breaking sounded out. Klavier stayed leant into the wall, quivering just as he had in the courtroom, with that same horrible unsteadiness. When Apollo rushed over to Klavier in concern, however, he found that Klavier wasn't shivering, or crying. He was only laughing.
"Quite an arm you've got on you, Herr Forehead." Klavier wheezed, in-between short gasps of mirth.
Apollo's hands fluttered about, from his face to Klavier to the door. "I didn't mean to-"
"Look at us. Reversed again." Klavier said. "You quite look as though you've been shoved over."
"Prosecutor Gavin!" Apollo sputtered. "I'm sorry—"
Before Klavier could reply, the doors behind them had pressed open.
"Prosecutor Gavin!" One of the bailiffs cried. "Are you alright? I heard something-"
Apollo's heart jumped into his throat. He couldn't imagine he would be welcome in the courtroom after this. He'd be lucky if he wasn't arrested for assault, all things considered, and then Mr. Wright, generous as he may be, wouldn't be stupid enough to keep a lawyer on his payroll accused of assaulting the competition.
As Apollo mentally prepared for his new life, Klavier only waved a limp hand.
"Ach, nein. I tripped. Quite the— ja, a klutz."
Apollo stared at him. His bracelet squeezed his wrist.
"Do you need any help?" The bailiff asked, stepping forwards gingerly. He halted when Klavier shook his head.
"Nein. I have my Herr Forehead to assist- right?"
"R-" Apollo had no idea what Klavier was driving at here, but he didn't see much choice other than replying. "Right. Right."
He hissed at Klavier the second the door had shut behind the concerned court staff. "You lied?"
"I did not!" If Apollo didn't know any better, he would think Klavier was offended. "You will help me, nein?"
"Well— of course. You know what I meant." Apollo sighed. He was very glad Klavier hadn't implicated him— it had been an accident, after all— and even if it hadn't been, Apollo certainly wouldn't leave him in this state. Even if he had started it.
"Herr Forehead," Klavier looked up, meeting Apollo's eyes with his bright own. "I am a rockstar and a documented diva. You do not believe this is the first time I have been pushed so?"
"Probably the first time by someone who was trying to comfort you." Apollo grumbled.
Klavier barked in laughter. "Ja! Very well, ja to that."
He blinked, however, at Apollo's outstretched hand.
"C'mon," Apollo said. "We should wash you off."
"It's only a small cut, I think."
"Still. You're bleeding." Apollo's gut tinged with guilt, looking at the streaks where the porcelain shards had cut into Klavier's hand. It hadn't been entirely Apollo's fault— there was far from any reason for Klavier to come so close— but he still felt a little responsible.
Klavier's smile softened. "Do not be so harsh on yourself, Herr Forehead. It was simply... a fit of passion, ja?"
That was one way of looking at it. "You shouldn't have crowded me like that."
Klavier closed his eyes, still smiling. "Ja, ja. I cannot argue with that. My apologies."
Apollo didn't have it in him to be angry anymore. "It's okay."
Klavier didn't need much help after all. He was remarkably far from dizzy, but Apollo held the door open for him anyways, guilt pricking at him as Klavier stopped before the sinks.
Klavier's fingers brushed against his cheek. He tilted his face at different angles, studying every bit of visible skin watchfully in the bathroom mirror until he was satisfied. It was only then that he turned his attention to the cut on the back of his hand.
"You shall pen no apologies to Gavinners fans tonight, Herr Forehead," he concluded. "I doubt it shall even scar."
Apollo exhaled. "Good. That's, I'm really glad."
Klavier laughed again, as he dabbed water onto his hands. Apollo's head swam. Had Kristoph really been lead away not even an hour ago? It felt like days, weeks in the past, compared to the panic of Klavier's injury, and the slow crawl of time in the wake of his arrest.
"Are you alright?"
Apollo looked up, nearly startled at Klavier's voice.
"I don't think you should be asking that." He protested weakly.
Klavier chuckled. "Ja, perhaps. Yet this was my own doing, in part. And even so, you do not strike me the sort to... well. Strike another."
Apollo huffed, leaning back against the tiles. "You'd be surprised. I punched Mr. Wright after my first trial."
Klavier doubled over then, hacking, and Apollo shot forwards, worried he was choking somehow. It became apparent, however, as Apollo froze, hand outstretched, that Klavier was simply laughing.
"Verdamnt. You... you cannot be serious," Klavier wheezed. Apollo shook his head with gusto.
"No, I really did. He just shrugged it off, though. I guess it's a good thing I'm a lawyer and not... a boxer, or something."
"I can only imagine the look on his face..." Klavier pressed some cheap paper towels to his hand, likely the worst quality thing that had touched it in years... or perhaps ever. "Perhaps there is a market for a boxer-lawyer. Certainly no one expected a rockstar-lawyer."
Apollo settled back against the wall. "I think I have to be a better lawyer, first."
He'd won each of his cases, that was true. But his knowledge and relationship with the law... he had a long way to go before he resembled any of the lawyers he admired. He didn't yet have the creativity of Mr. Wright, the strength of Klavier, the composure of...
"Do you really think that?" he heard himself ask.
Klavier turned to face him. "That you might make a good boxer?"
"No... what you said earlier. That we won. We got the truth."
"Ach." Klavier combed fingers through his hair. "Do not tell me you have found— poisoned dental floss, perhaps?"
Apollo blew air from his nose. "No jokes."
Klavier was facing the mirror again.
"I believe this the truth of this case, at least." He said. "Misham versus the State... and Gramarye, too. The disbarring of your mentor."
Apollo ran a hand over his bracelet. His fingers traced the grooves in the metal, cool and intricate.
"You said earlier I didn't look like I'd won... I'm not sure we entirely did."
"We did not. You did." Klavier said, with one of his infectious smiles aimed at Apollo.
"No." Apollo's hand clenched around his wrist. "I can't help but feel like we lost more than we won."
The victims were still dead. The truth had been discovered, but without any satisfactory conclusion. It was likely Kristoph— without enough proof to definitively say. There was no killer discovered and arrested, only a man already guilty.
If jail wasn't enough to stop Kristoph, had they really accomplished anything?
And there was the matter of Kristoph... Apollo still didn't know if he could reconcile his kind, yet frigid mentor with the unbridled rage of his murders. He had watched Kristoph break down twice now, and yet both times felt more odd imitation than truth.
Could this really be the same man who had guided him through cross-examination? The same man who had teased him about his vocal exercises with that small smile?
"I am sorry, that you knew him."
Apollo was shocked back to Klavier's voice, low and warm. Klavier's eyes were still focused on his reflection as he spoke.
"He wasn't a bad boss."
Apollo's voice was quiet, as though they were at a funeral. He guessed it was a funeral, of sorts.
Nevertheless, this was something he would never admit aloud to anyone else. He knew somehow, instinctually, that Klavier would understand what no one else could. No one else had seen the good of Kristoph, and no one now would believe him.
"I don't know what sort of brother he was." Klavier's fingers danced along his all too familiar curl.
"He didn't seem very nice to you."
"Always had his moods."
"I..." Apollo swallowed, but his throat rolled dry. "I don't know if I... regret knowing him. He taught me a lot."
They were lessons both intentional and unintentional, imparted through instruction and practice alike. Press every witness' statement, Apollo. Keep records neat and tidy. Don't be nervous.
Don't trust so easily.
Anyone can be a suspect.
Apollo shook his head to clear the thoughts. "And I helped find the truth. I couldn't have done that if I never knew him."
Klavier's sigh was great and shuddering. "Ja. The truth."
He didn't sound wholly convinced.
And, quietly, like a secret shared in turn, "I do hear it. It frightens me."
Apollo took a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his fists. He couldn't leave Klavier alone at a time like this.
With his courage built up, he reached upwards for Klavier's shoulder. He turned, facing Apollo, and Apollo gathered his words.
"You can still—"
"Oh. Wow, Apollo."
Apollo yelped at Mr. Wright's voice— Mr. Wright?! What was he doing here— and craned his neck a little too quickly to look at the door, yanking his hand from Klavier like the man had turned boiling hot.
"Mr. Wright!" His neck was beginning to sting.
Mr. Wright shrugged, a dangerous sort of smile on his face. "I'll just tell Trucy you're busy."
"Wait! We're not—!" Apollo shouted, but the door swung closed just as quickly as it had opened.
He really, really hoped Mr. Wright wasn't going to tell Trucy he had been caught canoodling with Klavier Gavin in the courthouse bathroom.
"Ach. I suppose we should leave now, nein?" Klavier ran a hand about the back of his neck, a façade of bashfulness. "Danke ever so much, Herr Forehead, I had no idea you were such a talented nurse."
"I didn't do anything," Apollo muttered. Nothing except mess Klavier up in the first place.
"Nein! Your support was simply... magnificent," Klavier said, with a snap of his fingers.
Apollo knew he was joking. He was likely mocking the lack of assistance he received from Apollo. He couldn't help, however, but think it might mean something more. Perhaps he was right, and Klavier did desperately need some sort of help.
"Wait," Apollo spat as quickly as he could. An idea had just come to his mind. "Give me your phone."
Klavier blinked. He seemed knocked off-kilter by the force of the suggestion, or perhaps a little pitying, but he dug around in his coat pocket to give his— very purple— phone to Apollo. It took quite a bit of self-control to resist the urge to dig around for blackmail- though Apollo suspected he would be more likely to find a collection of very, very attractive photos than any dirty secrets (and maybe that was even worse)- but Apollo clicked over to Klavier's contacts and began to type in his information.
He was Apollo Justice, attorney at law, and he would not add "Herr Forehead" as the nickname. He punched in his phone number as quickly as he could, before shoving the phone back in Klavier's awaiting hands.
"There. That's my number. Just call me anytime. I mean it."
Apollo fully expected it not to be taken. Klavier would humor him now, perhaps with a little barb about it— "isn't it too early to exchange numbers, Herr Forehead? You don't even know my star sign," or "is it not customary to ask for mine? You ought to be more of a gentleman"— before deleting it as soon as he left the building. Klavier Gavin was a rockstar, and one of the wealthiest men in the country. He didn't need the phone number of a scrawny co-worker slash maybe rival.
Klavier's eyes simply softened, crinkling slightly at the edges. "Thank you, Herr Forehead."
That was why Apollo was left gaping as Klavier pushed past the swinging door, set off into the hallway with his usual confident stride.
Apollo wondered if he would have done anything differently, if he'd known it would be the last time he would see Klavier in months.