Did I Really Die?
Prompt: Muse A and B are siblings/cousins/best friends/dating/etc. A few years ago, Muse B died in a car accident/something else and now has somehow come back to life by an unknown force. Muse A goes to the park one day and there they see Muse B sitting upon a bench, thinking it's nothing and try shaking it off. A few moments of still seeing Muse B, Muse A approaches Muse B; seeing Muse B looks confused, scared and upset. Muse B looks up and all they say is, "Did I really die?" (Based off of Resurrection on ABC)
Klavier remembered when he was fifteen, one of his fellow classmates at Themis had offered him a smoke. Klavier had scrunched up his nose with both disgust and disbelief, because how stupid was this boy, to offer a both a minor and a training prosecutor a cigarette, before politely declining. He knew what smoking did to a person's lungs, and he had no desire to die from lung cancer.
It was this memory that played as he threw his cigarette to the ground and grinded it with the heel of his boot. He vaguely wondered how his teenage self, or even better, his rock star self, would have reacted if been told he'd eventually end up slowly killing himself, and he found he really couldn't care less.
He had just departed from Fraulein Trucy's latest show at the Wonder Bar. Marvelous as always, but he had found himself concentrating less on her performance and more on her. Specifically, the way she beamed at the crowd and laughed with them as if she hadn't a care in the world. He searched for a crack in the facade, a sign all was in fact not right with the magician, because even if no one could see it he knew she was hurting like the rest of her family.
No one talked much about it anymore, but they could still feel the heavy absence of a certain red suited lawyer among them. How quieter it was without those Chords of Steel ringing in their ears, chiding them for their silly antics and flailing when caught off guard by those same antics. Two years, and Klavier still felt like some vital part of him had just been amputated.
Two years since Apollo Justice's death.
He could still feel his Herr Forehead in his arms, grunting and gasping with pain as Klavier desperately tried to staunch the bleeding with his trademark purple jacket. He murmured words of comfort, pleading him to keep his eyes open, to stay with him, but it was no use. Apollo had been hit straight in the chest, and he was dead barely a minute later. The police found Klavier cradling Apollo's body, his lips grazing the crook of his neck and his hands stained with Apollo's blood, sobbing out of sheer despair.
They found his murderer less than a day later. It was the wife of a man Klavier had prosecuted against for theft and manslaughter, getting him twenty five years to life. She was a dainty little thing, fragile and meek and so utterly sweet, but underneath that gentle exterior lay the heart of a cold blooded murderer. And a smart one too, Klavier had to admit. When he prosecuted her, a week after Apollo's death, and she was questioned as to why she didn't simply kill the man responsible for her husband's incarceration, she chuckled lowly and said, "Death is nothing compared to this."
And she was right. If she shot Klavier, he'd suffer physically for about a minute or so before slipping into the void, an eternal state of peace. But by killing Apollo, she condemned Klavier to a lifetime of grief and brokenness that nothing could fix. Even now, he felt as if he was put together crudely, alive enough to smile and be genuinely content with life, yet unable to bask in life's glow as he once had. But none of that compared to the utter rage he felt at the injustice that someone like Apollo, a man with so much to live for, so much todo with his life, was killed because of a woman's dirty desire for vengeance.
He eventually made his way to a park filled with people who, to his relief, did not approach him. Three years after he quit the music business, and it seemed as if he was finally fading into obscurity. He felt a pang of annoyance at the thought of someday becoming one of those washed up music stars like what's-his-face, but for the most part he was relieved for the chance to be alone. He made his way to a small patio decorated with chess tables where there was only one other person, his face directed up at the sky. Klavier glanced at the individual absentmindedly, and he froze.
(That...that cannot be.) He stared at the man, who stared up at the sunny sky for a few more seconds until finally feeling Klavier's gaze on him and shifting to face him. Klavier staggered backwards, unable to process what was in front of him. The man winced, rubbing at his left wrist, directly below an achingly familiar bracelet Klavier now only saw on Lamiroir, and stared at him as if he could see every single strand of his blond hair and all of the eyelashes decorating his blue eyes. The sight was so familiar all Klavier wanted to do was stare back, drink in the sight, and block out the rest of the world. After that moment passed Klavier's first instinct was to laugh; he finally cracked. The deaths of his best friend, brother, and lover had finally taken their toll on his psyche, and he was now hallucinating, seeing what he so craved to see. Or perhaps he was dreaming? It could be that he had yet to actually wake up to the second anniversary of Forehead's death, and he was dreaming that Apollo was alive and well, perhaps in the mood for a make out session-it certainly wouldn't be the first time.
He decided to just dismiss the hallucination and go on his way, but his feet apparently had a mind of their own as he found himself walking towards it, refusing to stop even when he mentally shouted at himself to leave it alone, because the moment he gets too close the dream will end like the rest, or his hand will phase through and prove it to be the hallucination it was. It was both forever and instantaneous until he was merely a few footsteps away.
The man who looked exactly like Apollo Justice gazed up at him, practically exuding fear and confusion, and asked, "Did I really die?"
Klavier/Apollo need more love. This will be a collection of drabbles/one shots/plot bunny excerpts I might expand on in the future, etc. I will also take requests through PM, since I have practically no imagination, which also means I'll be combing through the kink meme and tumblr for prompts to use. No smut, though. Sorry.
This first prompt was taken from a tumblr prompt post made by gxntlemen . tumblr . com.
The length of these drabbles will vary-some might be a thousand, some might be one hundred, more than one hundred, less than one hundred, I really have no idea. I have no clear updating schedule, and a part of me is afraid I won't live up to one if I write one down. Sorry about that, but I will try to make sure that the waiting time between updates won't be too long.
The cover image is taken from pixiv, artist unknown.