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Klavier didn’t really sleep once they reached Edgworth’s home. Trucy had hugged him one last time and promised she was right down the hall if he needed anything, and then he was bundled into a well-appointed guestroom (with a connecting bathroom) and left on his own at 3:45 in the morning.
He sat on the bed, his back to the wall, and stared out of the window until the dark sky gradually began to lighten, his mind a roaring blank of confusion and emotions.
Kristoph. The brother he’d looked up to for so long. The one who had practically raised him. Was just gone. No warning, no time to say goodbye...just gone.
Words and memories flitted through his mind. Kristoph, shaking his hand when he finally became a prosecutor, promising they’d face each other one-on-one for his first case. Kristoph, sneering and spitting cutting remarks at him from behind bars. Kristoph, on the witness stand, hair in disarray. Kristoph….
A tap at the door finally roused him from his thoughts. He climbed off the bed and crossed the room to open it, not at all surprised to find Wright on the other side. Klavier braced himself, already ready to fend off questions about his emotions and well-being, but Wright didn’t say any of that.
“I’m going on a coffee run. Want anything?”
“Coffee?” Klavier’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Surely Herr Edgeworth has a coffee maker?”
“He only gets imported beans,” Wright explained, rolling his eyes. “I’m afraid I’ve had too much corner store coffee and can’t stomach it unless it’s cheap and a little burned. Anything for you?”
He shook his head. Even if he’d wanted something, his stomach was too twisted up to drink it. He felt hollowed out and empty, like his stomach had shrunk down into nothing and he’d never be hungry again.
Wright gently rested a hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Klavier. We’re here with you.”
Klavier managed a jerky nod, not wanting to fall apart in front of Wright again.
“You have my number. Call if you change your mind.”
With that, Wright walked away, and one of the nearby doors swung open with a slam.
“Daddy!” Trucy leaned out of the doorway to her room, eyes focused on Wright.
“I know,” he replied, raising a hand to stop her. “Hot cocoa with three coffee creamers and whipped cream. Anything else?”
“Donuts!”
“I’m sure Miles has some kale you can eat instead.”
“We need sugar,” she whined.
“Sugared kale.”
“Daddy!”
Wright laughed. “Donuts,” he finally agreed. “Be back in a minute.”
Klavier watched him go. He made eye contact with Trucy and returned her wave, though he couldn’t return her smile, before retreating back into his room.
(If he’d also noticed that Wright hadn’t used a guestroom last night but had shared a room with Herr Edgeworth, well...that wasn’t any of his business.)
He should probably at least change clothes. People did that, right? Even when they were grieving. He opened his duffle bag, touched something soft and expensive, and abruptly realized he’d packed one of Kristoph’s sweaters. He pulled it out, staring at the tiny knit stitches in the delicate blue cashmere, and finally buried his face in it and cried.
His brother was never coming back. Would never see the error of his ways and be the brother that Klavier needed. There would never be some miracle turn where Kristoph was revealed to be working with the police to expose corruption, and the last few years had all been a lie. Everything he’d hoped for was just...gone.
Finally, his tears exhausted, he lay the sweater out on the bed (it felt too precious to wear just yet) and reached for something else. He changed into a loose pullover and jeans, then stared at himself in the bathroom mirror for a few minutes as he tried to figure out how to make himself presentable again. It all seemed like too much effort, so he washed his face and crammed his hair up into a messy bun. His eyes felt gritty, so he gently removed his contacts but left his glasses in their case—blurry vision and a headache was better than seeing Kristoph every time he looked in the mirror.
He waited until he could hear noise coming from the kitchen downstairs, and trudged down to greet his temporary host.
Wright had returned, and was loudly slurping coffee out of a paper coffee cup, smirking at Edgeworth, who was sipping from an espresso mug. Trucy had her hot cocoa and was sitting in front of a box of donuts. There was another cup on the table, and Wright picked it up and passed it to Klavier.
“Here. I got you the fanciest coffee they had.”
“Ah...thank you.” He didn’t drink a lot of coffee—tea was better for your throat—but he accepted the cup and took a tentative sip. It mostly tasted like milk, with the slight bitterness of coffee, flavored with caramel and vanilla.
“Phoenix, I’ve told you, that’s not coffee.”
“It’s coffee-adjancent.”
“That’s not a thing!”
“So what? He likes it. Don’t you, Klavier?”
He found himself pinned in place by two sets of eyes—three if you counted Trucy, who was watching this like it was a perfectly normal interaction between two grown men. “Ah...it’s good?” he guessed. He took another sip, feeling the warmth travel down to his stomach, which suddenly woke up to gurgle with hunger.
Trucy ushered him to a chair and placed a donut in his hand before he could protest. She kept up a one-sided conversation with him as he slowly ate, telling him about school and her magic performances and all about life in the Wright household for the last few months.
He was grateful for that. She kept the subjects light enough that he could easily follow, and didn’t demand much reaction from him. Considering he couldn’t have held a conversation if he wanted to, he was more than happy to let her talk.
“Oh, and—I’ve always wanted to ask this.” Trucy clasped her hands together. “Can I brush your hair? Please?” She stared up at him, wide-eyed and pleading.
Klavier’s hand strayed up to the messy bun on his head. He hadn’t even brushed it; just shoved it all up out of the way. “I suppose?” he finally said. Trucy gave a cheer and ran out of the room, leaving her empty cocoa cup and the ghosts of three donuts behind.
Wright and Edgeworth were gone. Klavier thought he could hear their voices from somewhere close by, but Trucy was back before he could even think about moving. She had a brush and spray bottle in her hands, and a towel over her arm.
“I brought some spray-in conditioner,” she explained, wrapping the towel around his shoulders to shield his clothes. “It’ll help untangle your hair and leave it nice and smooth.”
As she settled him in the chair and pulled his haphazard bun loose, Klavier’s attention was drawn to the clock on the nearby wall.
It was almost 9 AM. Nine hours since he’d learned of Kristoph’s deal. Six since he’d called Wright. His life had changed so much in such a short amount of time.
“You have really nice hair, Prosecutor Gavin,” Trucy commented.
“Please. Just Klavier is fine, Fraulein Wright.”
“Then it’s just Trucy, okay?”
He smiled, closing his eyes as she teased the first tangles out of his hair. “Okay...Trucy.”
She’d gotten halfway around his head when there was a sudden knock at the door. “I’ll get it!” she called out, dropping the brush on the table and running for the door. Klavier could hear Edgeworth scolding the girl for running, then suddenly Wright was in the kitchen grinning at him from the doorway.
“She asked to brush my hair,” he explained, raising a hand self-consciously.
“Looks good,” Wright commented. He dropped his coffee cup in the trash can and strode over to study Klavier’s hair. He reached out and gently touched Klavier’s hair. First the brushed side, then the tangled side...then he dug his fingers into the tangles and ruffled them around.
“Stop it!” Klavier jerked away, but Wright followed him. Both hands now, rubbing and rolling his hair in all directions. “Ack! Herr Wright, you’re making it worse!”
Klavier found himself laughing as he finally pulled away, trying to smooth his ruffled hair down. The grief lifted for a brief moment, and the world didn’t seem so dark. Wright was grinning at him, opening his mouth to talk, and—
“Do you wish he was your brother instead of me, Bruderchen?”
The laughter died in Klavier’s throat as a spasm of pain shot across his chest.
“I’m not even gone for twelve hours, and you’ve already moved on?”
“Klavier?”
He was lost. Swirling in an unfamiliar landscape. The world was sinking and rising around him. Noise clamored in his ears. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. He was lost and the world was dark and—
And someone was holding him.
“Just breathe with me, kid. You’re safe here.”
He sucked in a shaky breath, his consciousness slowly piecing itself back together. He was in Wright’s home—no, it was Edgeworth’s home. His brother was dead. And he was...there was a hand on the back of his head and warmth against his forehead. A smell of detergent.
“Herr Wright?” he asked shakily.
“You had a panic attack. Take as much time as you need.”
Klavier sighed. He still felt shaky and disoriented. “It might be a while,” he warned.
“I’ve had my coffee. I’m good for a few hours.”
He tried to breathe deeply, and when he felt almost steady again he pulled away from Wright. “Sorry about that.”
“Nothing to be sorry for. It happens to all of us.”
Even so, he still couldn’t meet Wright’s eyes. Klavier stared at the table, finally noticing Trucy’s hairbrush. He reached for it and gently ran it through his hair—a Gavin had to be presentable at all times—focusing all of his attention on working out the tangles. When it was finally smoothed out, he pushed his hair over his shoulders and let it hang down his back, then finally looked up to meet Wright’s eyes.
“I heard his voice,” he admitted.
Wright winced. “Ouch.”
“Ja. Ouch, indeed.”
They sat in silence for a few moments. “You gonna leave your hair down?” Wright finally asked.
“What?”
“Your hair. I don’t normally see you wear it loose like that.”
“Oh. Well.” It was too much trouble. He could shove it up in a bun again, he supposed, though that might ruin some of his hard work from brushing it out.
Wright gave him a gentle, almost fatherly smile. “Turn around?”
“What?” he asked again.
“I used to braid Trucy’s hair. She still asks me to do it sometimes, so I shouldn’t be out of practice.”
“Oh. Um, okay.” He turned around, his back facing Wright. “You don’t have to.”
“I know,” Wright said simply. He rested both hands on Klavier’s shoulders for a moment before reaching for the brush and gently gathering Klavier’s hair together. “It’s okay to let us help you out, though,” he commented. “You just lost your brother, Klavier. It doesn’t matter who he was. What matters is that you’re in pain, and we’re here to help.”
He closed his eyes as Wright began to braid his hair. Had Kristoph ever done this? He’d started growing it out when he first became a prosecutor, and it hadn’t been that long by the time he moved out on his own.
“There we go,” Wright announced as he secured the end of the braid with a hair tie. “Feel any better?”
Klavier ran a hand over his braid as he turned around. It was looser than he usually did it, but it felt neat enough. “Danke, Herr Wright.”
Wright nodded, leaning forward to pat Klavier on the arm. “Don’t be afraid to need us, kid. We’re here for you.”
He was really too old to be called kid...but there was no arguing with someone like Phoenix Wright. “I’ll try to remember,” Klavier finally said.
The man’s smile was broad as he stood up. “That’s all we can ask for.”