Klavier Gavin was perfection.
Klavier Gavin was a silky voice and a glossy haircut and flawless skin and designer clothes and a seductive pout.
Klavier Gavin was a brilliant legal mind, a consummate showman behind the prosecutor's desk, the current frontrunner for the 2028 King of Prosecutors Trophy, and a professional above all else.
Klavier Gavin was a hollow, flimsy illusion, a comfortingly familiar but threadbare blanket draped over the body of a broken man.
Alone in his apartment- because why would anyone bother to stick around- Klavier let the disguise fall away, no trace of the perfect armour that he wore in public left to shield him from the truth. With bedraggled hair, bloodshot eyes and his mouth twisted into a sneer at the pitiful state of himself, Klavier couldn't see anything in the mirror other than his brother breaking down at the witness stand.
Growing up, he'd always semi-jokingly referred to himself as the better looking brother, but deep down he'd known that they might as well have been twins. It hadn't been a bad thing; they'd both always been exceptionally beautiful, with even Kristoph's harshly serious personality unable to deter some admirers during his schooling.
But now the face that Klavier had once considered a genetic blessing felt more like a curse, the image of a murderer following him whenever he looked into anything even vaguely reflective.
And, vain as he could be, he owned a lot of reflective surfaces.
With a scowl, Klavier pushed away from the mirror and wandered through his cold, empty apartment, even more unliveable now that the picture frames had been ripped from the walls with only the faint outlines on the paintwork still remaining.
When he'd first bought the apartment, the frames that he'd hung up were filled with pictures of him and the other Gavinners, interspersed with a few of him and his brother. Each one had been a treasured memory that filled him with joy, seeing himself make real smile after real smile instead of the plasticky thing he used for the press.
The ones with Kristoph had been burnt first, the photographs curling away into ash as Klavier wondered where it had all gone wrong, wondered when his brother had gone from a strict but fair man to a callous murderer.
When Daryan had been arrested less than three months later and the rest of the band had quickly fallen out of contact, the photographs of the Gavinners had gone the same way as Kristoph's. Klavier hadn't cried the second time, too busy dealing with the sinking realisation that maybe, just maybe, it was him.
He was just as much of a poison as atroquinine or the toxin from the Borginian cocoon.
Words had always been more of a strong point for Klavier than numbers ever had, but he could still figure out that it was incredibly statistically unlikely for one man's brother and his best friend to both become murderers in completely separate circumstances. There had to be a connection between the two, didn't there?
The worst part was that Klavier could tell that he was being illogical, and should have known better, but it was just another failure as a prosecutor, as a rock star, as a person.
No wonder he couldn't make Apollo happy.
No wonder he now had to replace all his photos for a third time, getting rid of the physical evidence of how happy Apollo had looked on the outside while tearing apart from within.
A loud sob tore its way out from Klavier's throat, already feeling raw and torn up from a day of complete misery. After Apollo had closed the door behind him the day before, Klavier had stumbled into bed where he'd then stayed until the morning, trying to stifle the wailing he wanted to do in favour of crying silently into his pillow.
He should never have even bothered getting up, Klavier decided as he collapsed back into his bed, pressing the palms of his hands into his sore eyes. Maybe he could get away with never getting out of bed again, just lay there until he died.
All he did was hurt people. It was probably a good thing that Apollo had gotten out when he did, before whatever Klavier had inside him twisted yet another poor soul.
With another sob, Klavier curled himself into a ball and let his mental and physical exhaustion push him back to sleep. At least if he was asleep, he wasn't actively ruining anyone else's life.
The sound of a generic ringtone blaring jolted Klavier out of his sleep, his body feeling worse than ever after another sixteen hours of sleep. His lethargic, clouded thoughts took a while to form, Klavier very slowly realising that it was his work phone that was ringing and not his personal one.
He'd turned his personal phone off as soon as Apollo had left, but he hadn't even considered doing the same to his work phone. Considering that Apollo had originally been at his apartment to celebrate Klavier closing another successful case, he hadn't yet started a new workload and so hadn't been expecting anyone to contact his professional number.
In the meantime, the phone was still ringing away, whoever was on the other end showing no sign of hanging up. Klavier picked up the phone while fully intending to reject the call, but his finger paused when he saw the name of the Chief Prosecutor splashed across the screen.
With a start, Klavier realised that it was past ten o'clock on a Monday morning, more than two hours later than when he would usually arrive at work. He knew exactly why he was getting a call, and it would certainly be in his best professional interests to answer.
"Herr Edgeworth," Klavier greeted, forcing himself to sound as normal as possible. It didn't exactly work, but at least he had enough sense not to try and pretend that he didn't know the reason for the call.
"Mr Gavin," Edgeworth replied, sounding thankfully far from pissed off. "You've missed the Monday briefing and don't appear to be in your office. Care to explain?"
"I..." I've been in bed for two days because my boyfriend left me. Yeah, the Chief Prosecutor would love to hear that. "I'm horrendously sick."
It was close enough, and it was also completely unconvincing. But despite the prevailing idea that Miles Edgeworth knew nothing about people, he was still a man who had built a very successful career on observing people and putting fragments together to make the whole story.
After a few moments of silence, Edgeworth made a quiet noise of consideration. "Your personal leave time has been piling up ever since you stopped touring, and the payroll department is insisting that employees don't accumulate too many weeks of paid leave."
"Are you offering me a vacation?" It really wasn't surprising that Edgeworth had deducted that something bad had happened. Between Klavier's perfect record in regards to being at work on time and the fact that his natural charm seemed to have deserted him completely, even an idiot could have figured out that something was wrong.
"I'm telling you that payroll is bothering me about you having too much unused leave."
Despite everything, Klavier felt his lips twitch at that. Even if he was far less of a demon than he used to be, Miles Edgeworth had a certain reputation to uphold.
"Then if you'll excuse me, Herr Edgeworth," Klavier said, dropping any attempt at sounding normal and letting his exhaustion and misery seep into every word, "I'm going back to sleep."
"I expect to see you at the eight-thirty meeting next Monday, Mr Gavin. Auf wiederhören."
The call ended before Klavier could reply, leaving him staring at the default wallpaper that had come with his work phone. He only felt a little guilty about disregarding his responsibilities and rolling over to go back to sleep, but what was a little more on top of the mess he was already feeling?
A week to get his head on straight. He could do that.