Chapter Text
Why did you kill Shadi Smith? No… Zak Gramarye!?
Kristoph’s family moved to Germany just after he turned seven. The transition was hard on the young boy, having to leave behind the friends he’d found in his classmates. His parents promised that he’d adjust, that there would be plenty of German children looking for new friends. Kristoph had no problem learning the language, he had always been a fast learner. And even if he hadn’t, many of the people in Rosenheim spoke English as well as the native language. However, Kristoph was still an outcast. Even though he was quickly learning the intricacies of the German language, his pronunciation would be off, his speech stilted and heavily accented. Kids are cruel, and readily singled Kristoph out as the badly spoken English kid.
In response, Kristoph took to not speaking at all.
One cool autumn day a year after their move, Kristoph entered his home, sliding off his shoes and leaving them by the door. “Kristoph, come here!” his mother’s elegant voice called from the den.
Kristoph, ever the obedient child, immediately heeded his mother’s call and entered the living room to find both his mother and father sitting on the couch, glowing with pride. His father had a strong hand on his mother’s knee, his mother rubbing circles into the back of his hand.
“Sit, Kristoph,” his father ordered with a smile.
Kristoph hopped up onto the lounge chair across from his parents. This was a position he often took when he was about to be scolded. However, the beaming smiles on his parents’ faces suggested that this was not the case.
“Kris, your father and I have news,” his mother said, her blue eyes sparkling with warmth. The two proud parents shared an eager glance, before turning back to their son.
His father spoke, his chest swelling with pride. “You’re going to be a big brother.”
Kristoph blinked, the news taking a minute to sink in. He wasn’t immediately sure what to think. He had been an only child his whole life, did he really want to share his loving parents? His mind drifted to the relentless mockery of his classmates, the constant overwhelming loneliness. Maybe he would finally have an ally in this wretched world.
“What do you say, Kris?” his mother asked uneasily, not able to read her son’s expression.
Kristoph broke out into a wide, toothy smile, his blue eyes meeting those of his parents. Both his parents relaxed, relieved that their son was pleased at the idea of a new child.
If Kristoph had to pick one moment in time, he would choose this one; the point where everything started to fall apart.
In the months leading up to his parents’ announcement, his mother had become fascinated with a magic troupe. “Troupe Gramarye,” she called them. She kept posters of them on the walls, often gazing at them with a sort of longing. She tried her best to get Kristoph interested in magic and showmanship. During their tour of Germany, she took him to one of their acts. It was loud and crowded, with lots of flashing lights, and booming voices over the loudspeakers.
She would lean over to Kristoph, point at one of the performers and whisper, “That’s Zak Gramarye.”
Kristoph feigned interest, but in reality he found little interest in silly acts of magic. He was attentive, he would watch and see the grandeur for what it really was: intricate misdirection and deception. Instead of enjoying the magic, he made a game of trying to figure out the tricks and how they were accomplished. He spent more time looking at the stage hands cloaked in shadow than the performers.
Afterwards, his mother led him away by the hand. “Well, what did you think Kris?” she asked expectantly.
Kristoph paused, taking his time to put his thoughts together. “I think I understand the hat trick. It plays with the audience’s depth of field,” he began.
His mother cut in. “Ah, ah, ah,” she tutted, placing a finger in front of her lips. “It’s magic,” she insisted.
Kristoph furrowed his brow, but remained silent.
That was the last time his mother took him to a show, however, she still went herself. She would leave Kristoph with the neighbors and travel to different cities, occasionally across country lines, when Troupe Gramarye was nearby. Both Kristoph and his father shook their heads, amused at her interest in the magicians. She would only be gone a for a few days out of the month, and she came back with a loving smile and a new poster to add to her collection.
Kristoph’s father left soon after Klavier’s birth, leaving his wife to raise two young boys on her own. Kristoph took the role of father upon himself, holding Klavier’s hand when he took his first steps, sitting in the sunroom, cross-legged with Klavier on his lap.
“Can you say, mother, Klavier?” Kristoph asked, an algebra textbook spread out before the two boys. Kristoph still had a responsibility to his education, after all.
“Ma,” Klavier babbled, grabbing at Kristoph’s long blonde hair.
Kristoph patted the top of the young boy’s head. “Good job.” He turned the page. “What about piano?”
Klavier continued to tug at Kristoph’s hair. “Ma.”
“No, piano,” Kristoph stressed. “It’s what you’re named after.”
“Kris!”
Kristoph laughed, low and gentle. “No, that’s my name, Piano Gavin,” he teased.
The boys’ mother was perpetually tight-lipped about why she had named Klavier as she had. “Isn’t that a silly name? It would be like if you named meSaxophone,” Kristoph argued.
In response, his mother just wore a wistful grin and stared off at the wall behind Kristoph’s shoulder. “The piano is a beautiful instrument.”
Kristoph knew at that point that there was no use in arguing further. As the months passed, he became used to similar dismissive comments from his mother. Things she would say to make it clear that they were done talking.
As Klavier grew, Kristoph became used to the feeling of being dismissed. Despite having a strange name, Klavier had a much easier time in school than Kristoph had. If anything, it made him more popular among his classmates. Klavier was outgoing and charming where Kristoph was reticent and withdrawn. It was this that made Klavier settle in better, along with his perfect, fluent German. Whenever his classmates did tease him, Klavier had natural the natural charisma and charm that allowed him to turn it into a joke, to where his classmates were now laughing with him. Kristoph would hold Klavier’s hand as they walked home from school, and every day Klavier would babble about a new friend that he’d made.
“Today Johan gave me some Weißwürste,” Klavier chirped, skipping happily. “It was really weird!”
“I thought Johan was that smelly boy that made fun of you,” Kristoph pointed out with a raised eyebrow.
“He was, but we’re best friends now!”
Kristoph shook his head at the youthfulness Klavier’s words reflected. If only it were that easy for Kristoph to make friends. Now in secondary school, Klavier was still a loner. No longer teased, as his German was much better than it was as a child and his classmates had grown out of such things, he still retained the cold stoicism that he’d learned in his childhood. He did well enough on his own, sometimes he even believed he functioned better alone. He was proud of Klavier for not falling into the same pitfalls he had, not resentful.
Upon entering their house, their mother’s voice rang out. “Klavier!” she called in excitement. “I have a surprise for you!”
Klavier, being the excitable child he was, slipped from Kristoph’s grasp and immediately raced into the den. Kristoph followed at a slower pace, coming into the living area to find a gorgeous, black baby grand piano by the window that overlooked the street. Kristoph came to an abrupt halt as Klavier climbed onto the bench with stars in his eyes.
“You’re going to start piano lessons, pup,” their mother said warmly.
Klavier’s small hands hovered over the ivory keys, hesitant to even touch them. He hopped back down from the bench and tightly wrapped his arms around his mother’s knees. “Thank you, mammi!” he said happily.
“It’s my pleasure, pup,” she cooed, smoothing back his hair. “But you have to finish your chores before you can play.”
Klavier nodded enthusiastically, already racing to clean his room so that he could start on the music lessons he’d longed for. Two sets of eyes followed the young boy, both filled with affection. Kristoph waited until he heard Klavier shut his bedroom door before looking at his mother with apprehension.
“Mother,” he began.
“Kristoph, I don’t want to hear it,” she snapped, holding up a hand, signaling him to stop.
Kristoph pressed on. “Mother we can’t afford this.” Young though he was, Kristoph had eagerly stepped up to help manage his family’s finances in his father’s absence. To him, it was a welcome challenge, and it helped ease his worries to know exactly where the family stood in terms of money. That said, Kristoph knew they did not have enough to afford such an extravagant gift.
“It is not your place to worry about such things.” She sent her son a harsh look, irritated that her own child would question her authority.
“I appear to be the only one that does worry!” Kristoph snapped.
The back of his mother’s hand connects with his cheek, making a harsh crack in the quiet house. “You will not speak to your mother like that!”
Kristoph adjusted his glasses and took a deep breath, before walking past his mother and to his own room. He had learned to bury himself in his studies when these things happened, letting the throbbing in his cheek or ribs fade away with time. Just after he finished his Latin translations, he heard a tentative first note ringing throughout the house. Kristoph paused, listening carefully as Klavier began to teach himself the art of music, starting with scales.
Despite the situation, Kristoph couldn’t help but smile fondly. However, the movement of his cheek muscles caused a flash of pain to travel up the side of his face. Kristoph touched the still swollen flesh and sighed, going back to his studies.
The next morning, Kristoph examined himself in the mirror, seeing that he had a mild bruise forming on his cheekbone, and a small cut on his upper lip from his mother’s ring. He carefully pulled out his mother’s makeup and gently painted over the blemishes on his face. When he was done he assessed himself and nodded in satisfaction.
He went to Klavier’s room and knocked. “Klavier,” he called. “It’s time to go to school.”
Then, Klavier would open the door with messy hair, still clad in pajamas decorated with little guitars. He’d yawn and rub the sleep out of his eyes while Kristoph ushered him into the bathroom to get ready. While Klavier was in the bathroom, Kristoph went to the kitchen and packed a lunchbox for Klavier. He’d meet Klavier at the door and take his hand before walking him to school, repeating the previous day all over again.
Kristoph often lied in bed at night, staring at the ceiling while his thoughts ran wild. He questioned his place in this world, where he was constantly pushed aside for his younger brother and he suffered innumerable aggressions from his own mother. What waited for him after this was over? When he was an adult with the world at his feet, where would he go? He wondered if the world even had a place for a cold, quiet boy like him.
Mostly he wondered why he kept living this life, where both school and home were two different nightmares. At any point, he could disappear and never return. He could rise from his bed, walk outside and get on the next rain out of town and not stop until he was far away. He often wondered why he didn’t do just that.
He decided that it was some sense of obligation to Klavier that kept him, along with that ever present fear of the unknown. He could leave his life here and things might be better, but it might be worse as well. He resolved that when he grew up, he wanted to help people in situations like this. People that were trapped and needed someone to help set them free. He only wished that someone would do the same for him.
During those long, silent nights, Klavier would sit before a flickering monitor and read. Mostly the news, he wanted to stay updated on current events after all. He was often greeted with tales of courtroom corruption. The name “von Karma” was one that stuck out to him. Every trial he followed, tales of self-defense, entrapment, and victims of circumstance, nearly every one ended with a guilty verdict. And Kristoph, even an ocean away, would curse at the screen. That evidence was obviously forged. That witness was horribly biased! Do these people not see? So many people unfairly sent to their deaths.
Kristoph resolved that that was the kind of person he wanted to help. He even went as far as to research American law schools. Their system was filled with corruption, and Kristoph strived to help right it. He was content with this new goal.
However, like anything in Kristoph’s life, it couldn’t be that simple.
His mother sat at the kitchen table, and Kristoph froze immediately when he walked in. She had Kristoph’s own laptop in front of him, boredly staring at the screen. “Kristoph.” She turned his laptop screen around. “What is this?” she spat.
On the screen was the homepage of one of the law schools Kristoph had been researching. Kristoph knew from experience that it was better to remain calm when his mother confronted him. “It’s a school I was looking into.”
“Hmph,” his mother huffed, obviously unsatisfied with the answer. “And you want to go there?”
“It’s one of many that I was looking into,” Kristoph hedged.
“What makes you think you should be a lawyer?” she questioned.
“I want to help people,” Kristoph answered honestly.
She snorted derisively, continuing to browse through his computer. It made Kristoph’s skin itch to see her unabashedly invading his privacy. But he remained outwardly calm, so as not to set her off. It was then he noticed the bottle of wine at her side, and realized she was in all likelihood, drunk.
“Do you know how expensive law school is?” she slurred.
Kristoph nodded. “Yes, but hopefully I might get a scholarship. And I can take out loans to cover the rest. It won’t be too much of a strain on you.” Kristoph had been forming this speech in his head for a long while, planning to deliver it when his mother was in a good mood. This was not the ideal situation for it, but he knew this would be the only chance he’d get.
“It’s not going to be a strain at all, because I am not going to pay for your silly dreams,” she laughed.
Kristoph bit the inside of his cheek, holding in a remark that she was perfectly willing to entertain Klavier’s dreams of being a musician. He knew it wouldn’t do any good to point out her obvious favoritism.
“I understand, mother,” he said with thinly contained rage. He walked to his room, leaving his laptop with her, not wanting to try and pry it from her clutches. Instead he simply locked his door and slumped down on his bed. He’d never resented Klavier more than he had that night.