So Klingt Liebe

The hospital was blazingly white in the late summer sun. Machi straightened his sunglasses on his face. He moved in slow motion. He climbed each step slowly, planted both feet on it and then moved onto the next one. Once at the door, he checked his phone. He was five minutes late already. Would it be rude of him to just barge in? Machi hated commotions. Couldn’t stand it if everyone stared when he came in. And they would stare, wouldn’t they? The doctor who ran the thing said he would probably be the only person under 20. They would wonder what a teenager was doing there. They would know he was a nasty kid. They would yell at him for taking advantage of men the way he did. Machi turned to leave.

No. He had to go. He promised. Lamiroir – Thalassa – she wanted him to go.

Machi turned back, facing the glass door. He thought of Thalassa’s face. It was round, with soft, beautiful features. Rare was the emotion that stirred her constant serenity. Machi never saw her scowl nor heard her yell; yet she had a will of steel. That day, along with the little Borginian cakes she made with him, she had a slip of paper and a look of stubbornness wrapped in velvet.

“I hope you won’t be angry at me for making the presumption, but a friend mentioned this group to me and I thought it couldn’t hurt to call about it. I wrote down the information, I thought you might want to check it out.” Thalassa handed him the paper.
On it was written the name of a doctor, a time and place, and a title that made Machi freeze. Men Surviving Sexual Abuse.

“Lamiroir,” Machi said after what felt like too long a time.

“Machi,” she said softly. Thalassa never corrected him, never asked him not to call her by her old name after all these years. It was Machi who wanted to force the change but after all these years, still couldn’t. “I worry about you. I know you didn’t get along well with the social worker. Your parents—”

“Foster parents,” Machi interjected.

“They say you’re locked up in yourself. You’ve yet to make friends at school. You earn high marks in English, better than some kids who grew up speaking it, but you barely speak to anyone. I know they’ve approached you about therapy, but I thought… maybe this would better, for now, if you see you’re not alone.”

Machi stared at the small plate of cakes. They were his absolute favorite, flavored with honey and pistachios. They sat in three little stacks, green and wedge-shaped. He knew if he bit one they would stick a little to his teeth and then melt away.

Thalassa broke into the silence. “I can’t imagine the pain you went through, what they did to you at that horrible excuse for an orphanage, and Mr. Crescend –”

“Don’t you start about him,” Machi interrupted. “Not you. I won’t hear it.”

“Don’t you think it’s connected? The abuse—”

“Everyone suffers in those places, I didn’t have it nearly as bad as some of the girls—”

“Machi, please.” Thalassa’s eyes were wet with tears. Machi could barely stand to look at her like this. Why couldn’t she smile for him? Why couldn’t she be happy that he was done with the legal system and doing so well in school? No, instead it was criticism about how he lived his life. Tears of shame for her dirty, would-be son. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

“What, you mean like you did with Mr. Crescend? Don’t worry about it. No one can love me. Even you – you’re only here out of pity, and you’ll go home to your real family in an hour or two.”

Thalassa’s tears became reality then. She embraced Machi and sobbed. Machi touched her arm, but didn’t feel the weight there. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to feel, really. He stood here, touching her arm, watching the crease it made on the fabric of her sleeve. “I’ll go,” he said after a long time. “If it means you won’t cry, I’ll go.”

Machi turned to leave again. He couldn’t go to the meeting after all. Why should he fear Thalassa’s disappointment? She had two real, literally magical children who could fulfill her dreams.

As Machi lit the first step, the world twisted around him like a fisheye lens. He crouched there, holding the railing of the steps, waiting for the vertigo to pass.

This was why Thalassa wanted him to go. A dizzy fear state often overcame him, made him sweat and lose the details of the world around him. Sometimes he didn’t know why. It was like drowning in emotions he had no capacity to feel.

Even when he steadied, Machi didn’t let go of the pole. He pulled his phone from his pocket. It was now 20 minutes into the meeting. He knew he couldn’t go in.

He flipped through the address book of his phone. His guardians would be busy with the clubs and other activities their other foster children were involved with. If he called, they would ask why he didn’t go. That was the problem with the social worker, too. Thalassa would be rehearsing with Trucy. The Wright Anything Agency was in his phone too, but Machi didn’t know Apollo or Mr. Wright well enough to call there.

There was no one else. Machi felt his throat closing. Why here, why now? What about this place was so frightening? Machi didn’t trust the world to stay put if he stood, so he crouched there.

The sound of a motorcycle peeling down a distant street lurched Machi headfirst into a memory.

“You gotta be careful,” Daryan says to him. “Put your arms around my waist. Hold on tight.”

Machi stares. Isn’t sure it’s safe. Makes no motion to get closer. Daryan gets on the bike, takes Machi’s hands, puts them around him. “Now all you gotta do is climb on.”

He’s flat to Daryan’s back, smelling leather, hairspray and musky cologne. He holds tight. Feels safe and secure.

The sun is bright. The hills of Borginia are verdant and carry a rich, intoxicating smell of earth. Everything spins by so fast.

“I told you I wouldn’t let you ride if it wasn’t safe.”

Grateful, Machi sucks him off before their secluded picnic lunch. Those fingers in his hair – that’s what he remembers the most. They tug at him insistently but never force him.

As the motorcycle came closer, Machi could hear the motor well enough to know it wasn’t Daryan’s bike. Of course not. Daryan was in prison not returning his letters.

One foot on the steps, the other on that hill in Borginia, Machi was overcome with dizziness. He staggered to the garbage can at the top of the steps and lost the contents of his stomach rather thoroughly. Bracing the lip of the trash bin, he noticed he could make out the shape of his lunch this afternoon: a hasty tuna sandwich and two of Thalassa’s cakes.

“Are you alright?”

Machi knew the voice without looking. Somehow, that lilt of German accent held a presence he was unable to forget. He was afraid to turn and look. Maybe if he didn’t, Klavier Gavin would go away. He would continue to whatever task he parked his motorcycle here to do.

Klavier, on the other hand, didn’t seem to recognize Machi. His concern was a kind one for a teenager he’d never met before. He quickly climbed the stairs and looked Machi over.

“I’m fine,” Machi said after a moment, never so glad for his sunglasses. They were the last staple from his old life. Though he kept his blond hair the same length as always, he rarely took the time to style it into a delicate wing. Rather than traditional Borginian costume, he dressed always in dark and drab things. He never got out of the habit of wearing large sunglasses to hide his face. He pushed them up the bridge of his nose, willing his voice to be steady. “Just felt a little sick. I’m better now.”

“You look a bit pale. Why don’t you come inside and sit down? I’ll get you some water, then you can decide if you need a doctor. We are, after all, at a hospital.”

Machi felt too weak to resist. He followed Klavier into the hospital and sank into the chair the older man offered. As his eyes adjusted to the dimmer indoor light, Machi took in as much as he could about the man he’d known first as a musician and coworker, second as the man who nearly had him put away for murder. Klavier looked much the same. He had his same old elegant ways and clothes, though his voice seemed a little deeper, his face a little more care worn. He even wore his hair the same, allowing it to gather in a twisted curl to one side of his face.

Machi was unsure what he was supposed to feel, seeing Klavier again after so many years. Mostly, he felt grateful for the help, for the handkerchief Klavier gave him, for the bottle of water he brought.

“Are you still feeling ill?”

“No, I’m better,” Machi whispered.

“Do you have someone to take you home?”

“No, there’s no one.” Machi stared at the floor. If he squinted, the patterns in the tile reversed themselves. “I should go, there was something I had to do.”

Machi stood, glancing around. Which room was the meeting supposed to be in? Breaking into a room of strangers would be awkward, but nothing compared to facing Klavier up so close. He sat next to Machi, one chair away, not touching him. Machi felt invisible threads of tension between them, pricking whenever Klavier shifted his weight.

“The meeting should be taking a recess. Then we can both go when they reconvene, ja?”

“How did you know I was…”

“I’m good with guesses. It’s good to see you again, Herr Machi.”

So Klavier did recognize him.

Machi carefully considered the situation. “Lamiroir told you I was coming, why?”

“I’m the one who told her about the group, actually. She never said you were going to come or not, but once I saw you up close I recognized you. You’ve gotten tall.”

“Still shorter than most. The doctor says because of my poor nutrition as a child, I’ll never get much taller.” Machi sat back down. There was a row of seats in the hall. He took the one at the end of the row, furthest from Klavier. He slowly opened his water bottle, took a drink and then spoke. “You attend this group?”

“Sometimes,” Klavier said flippantly. He had a way of making terrible things sound casual, with a slight smile and a gesture of a jewelry-covered hand. “Since my brother was sentenced.”

Machi didn’t probe the story further. “It’s been nearly four years,” he said after a moment.

“You’ve grown up a lot.”

“So have you.”

Klavier laughed. Machi found himself strangely comforted. But he also heard Daryan in his head: “That fucking prick. I can’t stand him. Always shrugging off the worst shit in the world like he’s too good to let the world bother him.”

“They’re coming out,” said Klavier.

A group of men with no uniting features trickled slowly from one of the meeting rooms. There was exhaustion, a heaviness that hung over the group, but also another emotion that Machi couldn’t name. One of them, a broad-shouldered man with ashy hair, made his way over to Klavier. “I see you’re gracing us with your presence tonight after all,” said the man wryly. “I thought I heard that death trap you call transportation pulling up.”

“Herr Edgeworth,” said Klavier with a smile, standing up. “This is Herr Machi. He took ill before the meeting. Herr Machi, this is my friend Herr Edgeworth.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Machi.” Edgeworth offered a hand to shake, which Machi took reluctantly. Edgeworth’s grip was a strong one, his hands large but his palms soft. Despite his serious features, though, the man did not seem unkind. The word that came to Machi’s mind was reserved.

“I threw up in the trash can,” Machi said suddenly, to Klavier more than to Edgeworth. “Did you tell someone on the staff? I should…”

“I’ll tell the janitor.” Before Machi could beg him not to leave him with a stranger, Klavier was gone.

“I was pretty nervous when I went to my first meeting, too. I must have set out to come and run away a half-dozen times.”

It took Machi a moment to realize Edgeworth was speaking to him. “I almost ran,” he admitted. “I’m not really sure what I’m doing here. But there’s someone I don’t want to disappoint.”

“A word of advice, young Machi?”

“Yes sir?”

Something about the way Machi said those words made Edgeworth flinch. For just a moment, Machi saw sadness on his face, similar to the way Thalassa always looked at him.

“Don’t do it for anyone but yourself. You won’t be ready until you know you want to get better, and you know why.”

Machi didn’t know what to say, so he stared down at his hands and turned his water bottle around and around.

“I’m going to get some water,” Edgeworth excused himself. “I’ll save a spot for you and Klavier.”

Machi didn’t thank him or say goodbye. He said nothing at all when Klavier returned. “How are you feeling, Herr Machi?”

“Better,” Machi lied. “Can we go?”

“You don’t want to come to the meeting?”

“No. Let’s go.”

When Klavier just stood there trying to parse him, Machi grabbed his hand in frustration and all but dragged him out the door. Klavier barely had time to say goodbye to Edgeworth before they were down those stairs and onto the sidewalk.

“Herr Machi, are you okay?”

“I couldn’t,” said Machi lamely. He realized he was gripping Klavier’s hand and let go. “The air, I… I’m sorry. If you wanted to stay, I shouldn’t have, I wasn’t thinking…” The young man who rarely had words to say was suddenly overflowing. Klavier held out a hand to steady him.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Machi looked up into Klavier’s face. The way he spoke so gently and kindly was just too much for him. He burst into tears.

Klavier cautiously pulled him into an embrace, petting his back. “You’re okay, Herr Machi,” he said softly. “You’re really very brave. Don’t worry so much.”

Machi wanted to deny those words, but nothing came out. Nothing at all came out but sobs.


In the odd silence after tears, Machi felt as if he’d climbed out of a swimming pool after doing laps for hours. His eyes and throat burned, his muscles ached and he felt tired and fuzzy, yet bizarrely lucid. He was cold, too, shivering, more so when Klavier let go of him.

Klavier squeezed his shoulder. “Let’s go sit somewhere. I know a place with great tea and pastries. Herr Edgeworth turned me on to it.”

Machi nodded. At some point in his fit of tears his sunglasses had come off. Now he put them back on. He followed a few steps behind Klavier. For the most part, Klavier didn’t harass him. He made light comments about the street they were on and the weather, but didn’t press when they brokered no response. Soon they were indoors again.

Normally Machi would have been worried about this place with doilies under the teacups, but Klavier sat like he was ordering a beer. Machi pushed his sunglasses up into his hair. It was slightly dim inside and he wanted to see Klavier better.

Tea came with little cupcakes. After a period of profound nibbling, Klavier attempted to bridge the gap in conversation again. “I hope you don’t think I’m being too presumptuous, doing all of this.” He said it rather suddenly, as if coming to a realization. “You’re not uncomfortable, are you?”

“No, I… I don’t mind.”

“After what happened, I wasn’t sure you wanted to see me. Lamiroir keeps me updated. She told me you were doing well.”

“Apparently not well enough,” Machi said stiffly. He picked up the wrapping from one of the cupcakes, turning it around in his fingers. “She’s always looking me like she’s about to cry. And then sometime she cries. She says she’s worried – why, if I’m doing so well?”

Machi dropped little scraps of shredded cupcake wrapper from his fingers. They fell like crumbling snowflakes.

“It’s difficult, isn't it?”

“What is?” Machi wasn’t good at looking at people. He rarely saw faces, avoided the features of others. But at that moment, he genuinely wanted to see Klavier. His face was handsome, and more importantly, open. He hid nothing. His smile reminded Machi of a child’s.

“Being loved.” The light through the window gilded Klavier’s hair, and he spoke so softly and peacefully that Machi felt his throat closing and had to cough out words quickly in order to keep something from happening.

“Lamiroir doesn’t love me,” he insisted.

“Doesn’t she?”

“Lamiroir isn’t even Lamiroir, she’s Thalassa,” Machi said bitterly. This time it was a doily he picked up and shredded with fingertips that moved of their own volition. “Thalassa, who has her own children, and even a father for them, now. Thalassa who has the perfect family who loves her, and a place in this stupid country. Thalassa who belongs somewhere.”

“Ja, she is very happy with her family now. That is true. But why do you suppose she visits you so often?”

“She’s guilty over abandoning me here. Aside from her, who do I have? Daryan’s in prison. He won’t answer my letters.”

There was a touch of something not quite so calm on Klavier’s face at the mention of his ex-bandmate, but to his credit, he didn’t comment.

Machi continued. “I can’t go home. No one speaks Borginian, I have to… try and… speak this stupid cumbersome language--”

“Cumbersome? Your vocabulary is good,” Klavier noted.

“I read a lot. Anyway, my point is I have nothing. Lamiroir was all I had, and she stopped caring. Maybe we would have reconciled after the smuggling stuff, but she was too busy.”

“You believe this?”

“Why would she love me? I’ve met Apollo and Trucy, heard all the stories about them and Phoenix. They’re all so happy and they laugh and smile and when she’s with them, she glows.” Machi was attacking another cupcake wrapping, this time wringing it into a small rope. “When she’s with me, she cries and looks tired.”

“You do realize their life is not perfect. Dissonant chords are what make a resolution so beautiful, ja?”

Klavier gaze was lowered, focusing on some private thought. He toyed with the handle of his teacup, his rings glinting in the light of the early evening light. “Lamiroir cries because she is still Lamiroir, and you are her son, too. And she sees you’re in pain.”

Machi tied the twisted-up cupcake wrapping in knots, then wrapped it around his fingers until it sat in odd, lumpy curls.

“You shouldn’t underestimate love. It is what makes this rotten life bearable. Don’t take it for granted. It is in more places than you think.”

“Love? Do you have a girlfriend? Or someone special?” After all, four years had passed.

“Nein,” said Klavier, almost inaudibly.

“Oh… I thought you would by now. You always did so well with women.” Daryan often regaled Machi with stories about he and Klavier tomcatted it up. Then again, Daryan told a lot of lies.

“There was one amazing fräulein, for awhile,” said Klavier fondly. “But she loved her career more than me. So that was that. I was lucky. I had the likes of Herr Forehead—”

“You still call him that?”

“He hates it, and so I cannot help myself,” Klavier grinned. “Fräulein Trucy, Frau Thalassa, Herr Wright and Herr Edgeworth… When I was at my lowest, they gave me the same gift they have given me for years. I began to realize, without even knowing it, that they all loved me.”

“You’re a good person,” said Machi. “Why wouldn’t they love you?”

“They love you too,” said Klavier.

“They don’t even know me.”

“They know you’re Frau Thalassa’s son, and that she loves you. And they love whom she loves.”

“Even Herr…” Machi caught himself mimicking Klavier’s speech by accident. “…Even Mr. Edgeworth? He doesn’t know me. He’s just a friend of yours, right?”

“He’s also a very intimate friend of Herr Wright’s. It’s all rather complex, and it took a lot of adjusting on everyone’s part, but he is very much part of the family.”

“Oh.” Machi got the feeling that if it got much more complex, he’d need a chart, preferably with Borginian labels, to understand it all.

Klavier’s phone went off. Machi recognized the strains of Bizet’s Habanera. “Speak of the devil. He doesn’t seem the type, but he frets a lot. Probably thinks we’ve been abducted by brigands. I’ll be just a moment, please forgive me.”

Klavier took the call. Machi stared at his cell phone charm, which was that glancing, angular G shape that Klavier considered his trademark. Despite the fact he still wore his trademark around his neck (and why, were people prone to forgetting he was the Klavier Gavin, even after the Gavinners were defunct?), he wore it on his phone too. His phone was that lovely lighter-than-eggplant purple. Machi couldn’t help but think that it was almost cute how Klavier had to be so coordinated. He tried not to listen too intently, not wanting to eavesdrop on a conversation being held in front of his face.

“Ja… that reminds me.” Klavier cradled his phone between his cheek and shoulder in an uncharacteristically ungraceful way. Machi almost smiled at him. “Herr Machi, is someone picking you up?”

“No, I was just going to take the bus home.”

“Why don’t I give you a lift on my bike?”

“No!” Machi practically shouted.

“Put your arms around my waist, hold on tight,” Daryan-in-his-mind whispered in his ear.

Klavier seemed to recognize his mistake and faltered, embarrassed. “Ah, no, I suppose not. Herr Edgeworth?” Despite his position, Klavier had apparently forgotten his friend was on the line. “Ja, ja,” Klavier murmured. Machi observed that he nodded even while he spoke on the phone, so wrapped up was he in his conversation. “Let me ask him.”

Klavier looked at Machi again. “Herr Edgeworth offered to give you a ride in his car. You should go, it’s a very nice car.”

Machi stared dumbfounded. “I couldn’t…”

“Let people do something nice for you, Machi, I promise Herr Edgeworth doesn’t bite. Anyone but Herr Wright. And then he’s not very discriminating. Ja, I did just say that to Herr Machi. Because it’s true.”

It was Klavier’s face just then that convinced Machi. Machi had not known Klavier well when he worked with the Gavinners. He was far too withdrawn into his world with Daryan to see anyone else. Yet at that moment he was aware of Klavier, the way he teased his friend over the phone and smiled and laughed without masks.

“If he insists, I will,” Machi volunteered hesitantly.

“He said okay,” Klavier informed Edgeworth. He quickly said goodbye and hung up the phone. “He’ll be by in a few minutes,” said Klavier, motioning to the waitress for the bill.

“I have money,” Machi started. This place would cost him everything in his wallet, but he didn’t want to be a leech.

“Nonsense, Herr Machi. My treat.” Klavier’s credit card glinted like everything else about him. Machi found him hard to argue with.

“I need to pick up my bike,” said Klavier, holding the door for Machi when they went back outside. “But before I go, let me give you my phone number.”

“Okay,” said Machi slowly, taking out his phone.

“Herr Machi!” Klavier exclaimed.

“What?” Machi startled.

“Your phone, it’s cute!”

Machi blushed profusely. He was rather fond of the phone. It was silver with a little wing etched into the back. “Thanks.”

“You don’t have any charms or anything for it,” Klavier noted. “You don’t like them?”

“I’ve never seen one I liked.”

“Ja, finding a good one is problematic.”

“I can see you searched long and hard for yours.” Machi’s sarcasm was often hard to detect. Perhaps it was his accent.

Klavier laughed at his joke. A shining red sports car pulled up to the sidewalk, and Machi noted with something between horror and amusement that this was Edgeworth. For some reason, riding in that car seemed like it would be embarrassing, but there was no backing out now.

“Call me or text me,” Klavier said, “Won’t you please?”

“I will,” said Machi.

“Nein, you must promise.”

“I promise.”

Machi didn’t even realize he was smiling until moments later, after he got into Edgeworth car and they drove away. “You seem to be in considerably better spirits,” said Edgeworth.

“You’re all so nice to me,” said Machi. His cheeks were sore from the smile, and he felt a little relieved to speak normally. His face was still a little hot, though.

“It takes getting used to,” said Edgeworth amicably. “It took me years.”

They spent most of the ride in comfortable silence. Edgeworth was playing Dvořák on his stereo and they conversed mindlessly about Symphony for the New World. As they pulled up to the driveway of Machi’s house, Edgeworth turned the music off and Machi found himself thinking, this is it.

The other foot had to drop. Machi braced himself for contact. He could see that Edgeworth was strong. Machi was slender and small for 18; he wouldn’t be able to fight him.

Instead of attacking him, Edgeworth reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. He turned it over to scribble something on the back. “This is my personal cell phone number,” he explained. “You’re going to think me odd, but I know sometimes the thing that matters most is just having a friend you can call at any time, for anything. Thalassa told me you have episodes much like I once did regarding certain childhood trauma. If you need someone to help talk you out of an episode, or one of those episodes brings out something you need to talk about, please call me. No matter how late it is, or how silly you think.”

“Why?” It was the only thing Machi could think of to say.

“Because I’ve been there. You are very young to be shouldering this, and it’s brave that you’re facing your past at all. Please take it.”

Confused, Machi did, then bade him some sort of farewell. When he came in his foster mother Joella asked if it went well.

“I’m not sure,” Machi admitted. “But I have two new contacts in my address book.”


The next morning was rainy and gloomy, the complete opposite of the day before. After putting the breakfast dishes away, Machi wondered what he should do to occupy himself on one of his last days of summer vacation. He sat on the end of his bed staring at the address book in his phone. His thumb hovered over the green button that would initiate a call to Klavier.

In the end, he texted him instead: You like Borginian food, right? I know a good restaurant, but it’s no fun to go on my own. Would you like to get lunch with me?

Machi hit send and immediately threw the phone under his pillow, unable to contain his giddy energy. He bounced on the bed, wantonly fidgeting. He was so caught up in this inexplicable excitement that he only caught the call on the last ring before it went to voice mail.

“Herr Machi,” Klavier said pleasantly. “I’m in court most of the day, but I would love to go for dinner.”

“I would love you,” said Machi. “Er, sorry, my English is so bad sometimes. I’d love you to come.”

“Then it’s a date, ja?”

“A date?”

“Not literally. Just an English expression.”

“Oh… right.”

“I’ll pick you up around five. My car is even nicer than Herr Edgeworth’s.”

Despite it not being a date, Machi spent the entire afternoon agonizing over what to wear. In the end, he picked the sort of thing he always did – dark jeans, dark gray turtleneck, and a Tori Amos T-shirt. He was a little bit proud of himself for doing something so normal, even if it was under such bizarre circumstances. It felt sort of good. For once, he was looking forward to the future and spending more time with Klavier.

The Borginian café down the street became a tradition for them every week. Klavier always found time out of his busy prosecuting schedule to take Machi out. They kept conversation safe, complaining about this or that popular musician or debating the finer points of their favorite classical composer. Klavier liked Wagner, while Machi preferred Puccini. Neither seemed surprised by the other’s choice.

“Wagner is so bombastic. So German. You favoring him is not surprising.” Machi was a little relaxed, stirring his spicy tea with the handle of his spoon. After four of these not-dates, he was casual enough to stir his tea instead of tearing the napkins into strips. When he looked up, he saw that Klavier was looking at him intensely. Shifting his weight to sit on his hands, Machi met his gaze. “What?”

“Herr Machi, you’ll forgive me if I ask you a question?”

“What sort of question?” Machi never promised to do anything without knowing the terms first.

“Have you played piano since the trial?”

Machi thought eventually he would have to answer for his part in Daryan’s smuggling. He thought he was prepared for any questions Klavier might present him. He was not. He stared. “No.”

“You still love music, don't you? Why haven’t you?”

“Joella and Warren don’t have a piano,” Machi mumbled. He closed, retreating like flower into bud at sunset.

“I could send you a keyboard.”

“No, you’ve been too kind already.”

“Just a thought.” Klavier gave a cavalier gesture. “If I went back into music again, I know this great pianist…”

“Everyone’s moved on,” Machi murmured in. “I played for Lamiroir. And I’m no longer… good enough.”

Klavier nodded, once. He made a thin line with his mouth. Machi wanted to know what he was thinking but didn’t ask. “Frau Thalassa said you no longer played, but I didn’t believe her.”

“Am I often the topic of your conversation?” Machi huffed.

“I wanted to know, but I did not want to come see you. I did not think I would be welcome.”

“I never hated you.” Machi felt his face get hot. He stared into his teacup. “You just do job. Ah. You were just doing…” Machi crumpled forward as English utterly failed him. Suddenly, he was too emotional run the process it usually took for him to switch between English and Borginian. Remembering that Klavier spoke his language, though not well, he vainly tried to express it. He grabbed Klavier’s hand and his gaze. “You saved me. You and Apollo. The darkness… Daryan was ready to swallow me.”

Machi wondered how he must look to Klavier. He no longer dressed like some little prince for the spotlight, but beneath his dark clothes he was still a broken child, wasn’t he? Pathetic. “I am… so stupid!” He hadn’t realized they were gathering, but tears ran down Machi’s face.

Klavier squeezed the hand that Machi still held like a lifeline. “You’re too hard on yourself, ja?”

He silently beckoned the waitress for the check.

Machi didn’t feel like going home after dinner, so they walked around the block. The playground of the local school was deserted after dark, so it seemed like a good place to detour. Machi dug his toes into each step he took on the little winding path, hugging himself closely. Klavier was near, but not touching. Machi could smell him on the wind: his cologne and shampoo, the hint of leather driving gloves.

“I’m sorry. It seems I always end up crying, with you.”

“You should cry with someone. It’s an honor that it’s me.”

“Don’t say lies.”

Machi drifted toward one of the large play structures. He touched each feature of the toy reverently, as if he were in a museum. He touched the steering wheel where his foster brothers and sisters liked to play pirates but didn’t spin it. He climbed to the top of one of the slides, perching, but didn’t slide down. He watched Klavier wander beneath him with his hands in his pockets. The space between them wasn’t far. Machi liked being the taller one for once.

“I’m not lying to you, you know,” said Klavier. “I don’t lie to other people.”

“To yourself, though?”

Klavier laughed. It was his rock star laugh, the one that charmed interviewers. “Who doesn’t?”

“Mr. Yoostis? And Daryan…”

Klavier crouched suddenly, staring somewhere Machi couldn’t see. The coppery street lamps provided poor light. Klavier’s face was in shadow. “Nein. Daryan lied to himself the worst of all. Criminals… they lie the worst of all.”

“He’s not a criminal!” Machi hated how he whined, how his voice came out just then. Klavier stood, and his expression was so hard. Disappointed, like he was in court.

“Herr Machi, have you forgotten what he did to you?”

Machi tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “You’re mad… I’m sorry.”

“Not at you.” Klavier sighed and looked very tired, rubbing his temples. With admirable precision and balance, he scaled the slide to sit next to Machi.

“I seduced him. Asked him for money.”

“You were a child.”

“I was not!” Machi yelled. He could hear the buzz of his voice echoing off the concrete and brick of the school’s walls. “By the time he came around? I knew how to make men do what I wanted.”

“You wanted him to involve you in his smuggling plan? You wanted him to pin you for murder?” Klavier spoke more reasonably than Machi felt he had any right to.

“I wanted him to… I seduced him. I tricked him, he didn’t know I couldn’t see, I… he never would have, if not for me…” Machi was shrinking, stammering. Now he wished for the hot outburst of tears, but nothing like that came. Just cold and weakness.

Klavier pulled him into a hug. It was a light embrace that made no demands. Stunned into silence, Machi pressed his cheek to his shoulder.

“You ran out of excuses for him, ja? You can’t protect someone from the truth. Even if you love him.”

So close to him, Machi definitely felt Klavier tense. Felt him swallow.

“The truth is both painful and inescapable, Herr Machi.” These words were barer than the ones Klavier usually spoke, and far less comforting.

“Then why is it so important?” Machi spat stubbornly, muffled in Klavier’s collar. He already knew at least part of the prosecutor’s answer.

“Because lies are worse. Lamiroir, when she had the chance, did she stay in her darkness? You spent much time with her before her surgery. You know that going into light was a painful thing to do. Frightening, but worthwhile.”

“It’s not the same,” Machi insisted.

The dim light of the playground transformed: for a flash, Machi saw Borginia in the summer.

Daryan embraces him.

“I’ve kinda warmed up to you,” he says in Machi’s ear. His hands on his hips slide Machi into his lap. “Look what you’ve done.”

Beneath Machi is that undeniable thing: hard and unspoken like a silent letter lingering on someone’s tongue.

“Fuck yes,” is the kind of think Daryan says when he’s having sex with Machi. And then afterwards, in the blankets: “I’m going to take you away from this place. We’ll be happy together, yeah?”

Daryan brings Machi expensive chocolate and books. Daryan gives Machi spending money and ruffles his hair. Daryan says the cocoon is insurance for when the Gavinners break up – just in case his solo career doesn’t take off.

What sort of man is Daryan?
Does Machi love him?
Does Daryan love Machi?

Machi shuddered. Back in the present, he realized that he’d draped himself over Klavier’s lap and quickly climbed off him. Klavier did not seem upset. Perhaps no time had passed.

“I know it is not the same,” said Klavier after a moment. “It’s just an easier point to make with someone else’s story.”

Machi was about to ask a question when their silence was broken by Walkürenritt. Startled, he fished his phone from his pocket.

“Wagner is so bombastic, so German,” said Klavier dryly. He seemed a little cheered up by a tune from the famous Ring Cycle.

“It’s Joella,” Machi explained, opening his phone to chat quietly with her for a moment. “I’m not far. Yes, I know. I’ll be home in ten minutes.” After hanging up, he looked to Klavier. “I have to go home now. Curfew.” He stood.

“Why don’t you just slide down?”

“Oh.” It hadn’t occurred to Machi. His childhood in the Borginian orphanage had not included any playgrounds.

“I’ll give you a push. Sit, sit!”

Blinking, Machi did as he was told. Klavier gave him a firm and steady push. Machi slid down the slide, and laughed at the bump at the bottom. It was a short, surprised noise.

Klavier’s handprints burned on his back. Machi stood.

“Now your turn!” he called up to Klavier.

“Ja, ja.” Klavier slid down. Brushed off his pants as he stood.

“Thank you for tonight. Thank you for all these nights.”

“It has been my pleasure, Herr Machi.” Klavier smiled.

“Still,” said Machi with a frown, studying Klavier’s face. He wasn’t sure what he was thinking right at the moment he tilted Klavier’s chin and attempted to plant a kiss on him.

It landed just left and below his mouth. Machi hadn’t quite accounted for the height difference.

“Herr Machi,” stammered Klavier.

Machi would always remember that night as the first time he ever saw Klavier look a little flustered. He was red.

Before Klavier had time to regain his senses, Machi turned heel and ran. He didn’t stop until he reached the front steps of his house. Then he bolted inside, slamming the door behind him.

He didn’t check to see if Klavier followed. He ran to his room and threw himself on the bed.

“What,” he yelled into the pillow, “Am I doing?”


End Notes:
*This was for this request: Klavier/Machi! With implied past Daryan/Machi if possible. 8D here on the kink meme. I got to nicknaming it EpicFic because it is well, pretty epic.
*Title is from an awesome song by And One, because even though it's body pop and the Gavinners are rock, this is what I listen to when I imagine Klavier's vocals. The title means "sounds of love," "this is what love sounds like" or something to that effect, I have no idea actually because I speak no German. It could mean "giraffe pajamas" and I wouldn't know. Sorry. Also, I realized pretty soon in that it didn't make a whole lot of sense to give this fic a German name when it's mostly from Machi's perspective, but oh well. It's distinctive, ja?
*Klavier's ringtone for Edgeworth is Habanera. I don't know when I began associating this song with Edgeworth, but if you watch the kink meme you may see something else I've written that involves him and this piece. X3
*Machi's ringtone for Joella is better known as Flight of the Valkyries. Says something about what he thinks of her personality, doesn't it? :x