High Maintenance

Klavier Gavin whining about the imperfections in his music is something akin to unbearable and insufferable—which is why Ema is half-glad that the Gavinners disbanded a while ago.

(The other half-glad is because it's good riddance to the atrocious songs and screaming fangirls.)

But…

Ema catches him in the office, feet propped up on his messy desk, cellphone in hand and ranting in angry, heavy-accented English about how wrong the album cover is—

Or how the bass overpowers the guitar—

Or how his vocals tapers off at 3:31 minutes of the song.

Either way, Klavier is being a whiny teenaged girl.

"Didn't Gavinners disband like… fifty-five years ago?" Ema huffs from the office door once he ended his call.

Klavier drops his phone on his desk and breathes deeply. By the furrow in his brow, Klavier is quite irritated today.

"Five months ago, in fact." He puts a hand over his forehead and sighs, exasperated. "It is but a mini solo album, mein liebe."

She rolls her eyes and walks to his desk, dropping a folder of reports in front of him. "Didn't you say you wanted to focus on being an attorney?"

"Ja, but…record companies aren't willing to let me go." Klavier leans back into his armchair, fingers tapping to the rhythm of the background music. "In exchange for a peace of mind, I promised an album whenever I have the leisure to sing and play my gitarre."

Ema pops a snackoo into her mouth, nodding, not believing him. "Mhm."

Klavier seemed to be encouraged by this and he flicks his hair with a light smirk. "It's a solo album featuring Klavier Gavin & Gavinners—"

She scoffs. "Dumb fop, in other words, it's Gavinners all over again."

"Nein," he drawls and waves a hand in the air. "No gigs, no world tours, only an album featuring me and my guitar with music contribution from my friends. Contrary to what you think, it is sweet music to the ears— appealing even perhaps to you."

Ema nods, disinterested, and devours more snackoos. "Right. Me liking your gaudy music. Dream on, glimmer boy."

"But mein gott—I can't believe the finished product! I give them free liberty and—"

Here he goes again…

Ema nabs the folder she knows Klavier wants her to finish and briskly leaves the office as he continues bemoaning about music tracks and guitars.

It'll probably take him a few minutes to realize that he's been ranting to nothing but thin air.

Not that Ema cares or anything.

Klavier Gavin is a picky fashion diva of the most annoying kind.

Majority of his clothes are imported from designer labels in Europe and he makes a fuss over loose threads or a mis-stitched seam. When he's not doing work or complaining to the music company about his solo albums, he is conversing over the phone about—

"The latest shipment is far from perfect. No— Au contraire, il est—" Klavier scolds in French, eyebrows scrunched as he picks at the shirt laid out on his bed.

Ema leans agains the bedroom door, arms crossed over one of her fancier dresses.

(She's not looking at the prosecutor's toned abdomen—thank you very much.)

She has half the mind to walk out right then and now and head to Gatewater Imperial Hotel to have dinner alone because Klavier is complaining about the buttons of his dark shirt.

Which is ridiculous because no one would be able to pick out the flaw in his shirt even if they squint.

It's half past eight—she's hungry and left her snackoos at home.

"Oui, that'd be best for the both of us," he ends with a growl in his voice. Klavier flings the phone into his pillows.

"Just wear another shirt, fop," Ema sighs, putting a hand on her waist. "We're only catching dinner. No big."

"Nein! I've had this on special order a few days ago," Klavier whines and tosses the shirt across his room. It splats against the mirror and sinks to the floor.

He throws himself back on the bed (much like a baby throwing a tantrum) and snags a pillow to bury his face in. "It's not perfect if it's not that shirt!"

"…um…okay, you have no idea how prissy you sound right now." Ema takes the liberty to rifle through his opened closet; she snags the nearest black shirt and throws it in his face. "Here, just put something on so we can eat—"

"Fräulein, this is my work clothes," he says with a tsk and flicks it off the bed. "I rather be dead than caught going on a dinner date in my work clothes."

"You owe me dinner for working me to the bone during the last investigation," Ema lashes back with a blush searing her cheeks. She huffs and rolls her eyes. "And that flashy half-popped collared shirt of yours hardly deserves to be called work clothes."

"Nein, nein! Ich habe das ganze woche geplant! Meine pläne sind vernichtet—!" Klavier moans loudly into the pillow.

If whining wasn't irritating enough, Klavier whining in German was infuriating.

"Okay, listen here, you glimmerous idiot," Ema snaps and he becomes silent. "You're foppy regardless of whatever flamboyant bling you put on. I think you look glimmerously fine in whatever the heck you wear, so now can we please get going—?"

At this, Klavier peeks up at her, eyes glittering like she just complimented him—

(Oh wait, she did, didn't she.)

Ema clears her voice and throws another shirt, dark blue with golden embellishments. (Seriously everything in the fop's closet is laced with sequins and caked in thick layers of glitter.)

"I'm famished. Put on a damn shirt. We're leaving."

Klavier sits up (and Ema has to tear her eyes away from his sculpted, tanned body.) and collects the dark shirt from his lap.

"Yes, Fräulein Skye."

Ema swears she saw him smiling just a bit under that pout as he shrugs on his clothes.

Klavier Gavin takes his kaffe very seriously and it throws his entire day off if he doesn't have his designated cuppa at the designated hour.

Speaking of which, milchkaffe is a vital part in his morning routine and when Klavier Gavin does not have his rich coffee frothing with hot milk—

"Hey fop, orders from the chief. He wants you to handle the Elswich vs. Under trial—"

"Nngh."

She jumps back immediately, eyes wide. "Woah, wait. You look like you died."

He's lifeless on his desk, sprawled over the mess of papers he doesn't bother cleaning up. His hair—not neatly combed like its usual do—has stray spikes spinning everywhere. His shirt and jacket is in a gloriously crumpled mess.

All in all, Klavier Gavin looked like…the ghost of Klavier Gavin.

"There's no milch."

Ema hits him on the head with the thick file in her hand. "Come again?"

After a longer length of silence, he sighs again, mumbling into the papers. "No milch, no milchkaffe. Do you see my problem? I cannot possibly function in the early mornings without mein milchkaffe!"

She thinks of knocking his head again with the file but decides against it since he's despaired about…milshkappee? She couldn't hear correctly.

"Whatever." Ema drops the file next to his head. "Elswich vs. Under is in a few days, the crime scene has been secured and investigation is underway—"

"Ja, ja, let me alone fräulein," Klavier mumbles, somber and…unlike Klavier. He's actually shooing her away and not flirting like he usually does. "I will be there by noon."

"…oh, sure."

Ema leaves the office, feeling strangely refreshed with a bag of snackoos still full.

Though, there's that nagging question of—what the heck is milsh and kafee? And what's so important about it that it drained the life power out of the famous prosecutor?

Later that day, after thoroughly examining the crime scene and eating away her daily bag of snackoos, Ema conducts a search on google and finds that milchkaffe is a type of drink with copious hot milk poured into coffee.

Ah, that's what he meant.

Ema visits the grocery store and buys 2% milk because the fop is just wasting away in his office all morning, lamenting over not having milk for his coffee and she needs him down at the crime scene because—

…he needs to do as much legwork as she does.

(Valid reason, completely valid, Ema thinks. She also needed to buy herself another bag of snackoos to make as ammo.)

Reasons aside, she heads back to the precinct, goes up his office, and finds Klavier Gavin whirring around in his office chair doing absolutely nothing but plucking forlornly at the strings of his guitar.

"Fop. Here. Your milsh," Ema grumbles and drops the small carton of milk onto his desk.

He stops spinning in his office chair.

Klavier doesn't even offer a smile. He just stares at her with lifeless eyes and a deadpan as he inspects the carton.

"I appreciate your sudden thoughtfulness, Fräulein, but I take nonfat milch in my kaffe."

The bag of snackoos tears under the bruising pressure of her grip.

She smiles, sweet and venomous. "Oh, for the love of—"

"Ja?" Klavier has the decency to look wary at her hand.

"You spoiled, bratty fop!"

Ka-tonk.

Klavier Gavin is a high-profile, high-maintenance ex-rock star/ prosecutor that needs everything to be perfect otherwise he implodes on himself.

He cares too much about every little detail while KG Records puts together his first solo album since Gavinner's disbandment.

He makes a fuss about the condition of the clothes shipped to him and complains in whatever language of the country his clothes happened to be bought from.

Not limited to his kaffe, he's also extremely picky with gourmet foods. Having been a rock star and prodigy prosecutor for the last seven years, he's eaten enough five-star meals to turn a nose up at third-rate foods.

(He's a prick, so he gossips about the quality of their dinner sometimes—all the times.)

Ema has already witnessed enough of his prissy self to know that a glimmerous fop will forever remain as—a glimmerous fop.

And to be frank, it is always annoying to hear his complaints about his first-world problems.

The life of a celebrity is indeed a harsh one—Ema secretly gags at his theatrical display of his woes.

But then there are times when Klavier surprisingly becomes… rather bearable.

Sort of.

(Not like Ema would ever admit that to his face though.)

"Fräulein detektiv, an autographed album of mein Guilty Love," Klavier offers with a (not so) modest bow of his head.

Ema does her best not to cringe at the overly sparklified cover with Klavier Gavin posing with a mic in his face.

She stares at the fancy scribble of what's supposed to be Klavier's autograph on the cover. And to be honest, she's seen so much of his scrawl on official documents, it's hardly anything special to her.

"…um, thanks. Wow, I really wanted it," she says flatly and turns the cover over and stares at the songs. Guilty Love is the featured song on the list, she couldn't have guessed.

Klavier perks up like a puppy at her words. The sarcasm flies over his head. "Ja? I am very glad!"

"Yeah, it's not like I haven't heard this song a million times before."

"Ach, Fräulein, you think so little of my musical capabilities," he sighs loudly and leans back on her sofa. He has the nerve to prop his boots on her small coffee table. "It's not the same Guilty Love that the Gavinners performed. It is soft rock, almost like a ballad, soothing to the ears—"

"Like guitar's serenade?" Ema quips as she flips open the case and inspects the tacky magenta and gold colored CD.

"Ja— ach, nein! Not that!" He makes a face and shakes his head at the memories of a burning guitar. Ema snorts a bit as he fights to keep his composure. "It's not like that. In fact, I think even people like you will have a taste in music like this. Give it a listen, bitte?"

Ema stares at him and his ridiculous get up: sunglasses, black shirt, and that ridiculously heavy-looking chain around his neck—well, he did mention that he had just visited a music store for a brief autograph session.

"If I do, will you leave?"

He wedges himself between the plush pink pillows and wraps his arms around the back of her sofa. Ema glares at him as a wide grin spreads on his face.

"Vielleicht," he says, voice taunting with the abhorred musical lilt. Ema's eye twitches and she stands her ground, arms crossed and glaring at the dirty boots on her table.

Klavier tilts his head, curious. "What's the matter? You don't happen to have a CD player in your little apartment?"

"No, I was wondering if you can get your shoes off my table, thank you?"

He swiftly pulls them away and his feet drops heavy like led on the carpet. Klavier has a lopsided grin on his face. "Better?"

"Thank you," Ema huffs and she walks off to her bedroom, half-remembering that she had borrowed a portable CD player from Lana a few months ago…

…Or not, because she just remembered that Lana came back last week and took it with her.

"Well?" Klavier had been lounging on her sofa the entire time, remote in his hand and watching— oh. God, no.

"Turn that off right now!" Ema screeches as she tackles Klavier and grabs at the remote.

"Awfully feisty, aren't we now, fräulein?" he laughs—before choking when Ema stuffs a snackoo down his throat. She snags the remotes and jams the red button.

The blaring music comes to a complete silence.

"You don't barge into people's houses and watch their goddamn TV," she shouts, knuckles turning white around the remote. Ema settles back on the couch, sitting as far as she possibly can from him.

Klavier finishes swallowing the snackoo jammed in his mouth, licking his lips for the smeared chocolate—much to Ema's added embarrassment. "I was surprised…Steel Samurai, ja?"

There is a soft quirk on Klavier's lips.

Oh, there, there it is.

Humiliation in the precinct for months to come—Ema can practically hear her fellow detectives and officers laughing at her for liking a childish show that was almost ten years old.

She burns red at the thought and opens her mouth, "Shut up, I know it's—"

"It's nice to know that Fräulein detektiv isn't a complete maniac about science, ja?" Klavier laughs and does the dreaded thing and—

…pats her on the head with a light touch that has Ema feel almost weightless…?

Ema blinks before she flushes and slaps away his touch. "W-Whatever…you glimmerous fop."

Klavier takes it with a dazzling smile. "So, did you find the player so that we can hear my melodious music take your breath away?"

She chews her lower lip as Klavier winks his annoying signature lady-killer wink— and Ema notices that he's come much closer to her.

"…can you just leave?"

The question has Klavier freeze in place with a dramatic gasp leaving his lips.

"Nein! Not without you hearing my beautiful voice! Though it is somewhat a problem that you cannot afford a practical item such as a CD player…"

"Shut up." Ema feels dread building in her chest and she withers slightly. Klavier suddenly snaps his fingers.

"Achtung!"

Her heart sinks a little lower—achtung. Whenever Klavier achtungs it always spells trouble for Ema some way or another.

"Fräulein detektiv, I'll bestow upon you the honor of hearing Guilty Love in live and in person," he says silkily, eyes closing with a hand resting on a place above his heart.

"No thanks."

He ignores her and whips out his phone.

"Achtung, fertig, los!"

Ema shifts and tries to crawl off the couch just as she hears the electric guitar blast from Klavier's cellphone— she chokes when Klavier wraps an arm around her shoulder and holds her fast against him.

"I found you in a stunning dress, I held you close—"

Ema shrivels in embarrassment when Klavier bellows the next line.

Five minutes seem like eternity.

(At least that's what she thinks.)

The tune is all right. Like he claimed, it is easy on the ears and not cringe-worthy like the blaring concert at Sunshine Coliseum. Though now that Ema has heard it a bit more clearly…

"Wie hat es ihnen gefallen— Did you like it?" Klavier asks, his face practically radiant and glowing with eagerness for her answer.

"It's…" She somehow can't bring herself to look at his face and say that the genius behind the lyrics is as existent as his modesty—"Not bad."

"Ja?" Klavier looks immensely pleased. "Then I will sing it for you again and again, mein liebe! I knew you would come around to liking my smash hits! The lyrics speak straight to the fräulein's heart, ja?"

Ema has a bag of snackoos gripped under her fingers and she's ready to shove them in his face and beam him out of her apartment—

"Fop—" Her breath stops in her throat when she meets his ice blue eyes.

Oh god, Klavier looks so proud of himself with that lopsided grin that is anything but his usual crafted, taunting smirks.

He loops his arms around her waist and tugs her onto his lap, grinning like a child that just got his new toy.

His eyes gleam as he presses the button on his phone once again—

"Achtung, fertig, los!"

Ema twitches.

"…god help me."

After being sung to for about three hours straight— consisting of different songs after he sang Guilty Love about five times— Ema Skye has reached several conclusions of sorts.

1) Ema Skye cannot snackoo Klavier Gavin when he is being a hopelessly glimmerous fop (or in other words, when he's being a self-centered, pompous fop wailing about his first-world troubles; or in other words: being a high-maintenance prick.)

2) Ema Skye cannot snackoo Klavier Gavin when he's being… well, not being his usual foppy self (or in other words, not completely full of his fat ego and uncharacteristically good-natured without debauching anyone.)

3) Klavier Gavin finds some kind of motivation and pride in Ema's not-really-compliments compliments. And Ema can't snackoo him when he's being ridiculously…chippy.

The third finding is what Ema finds rather interesting.

He has millions of Gavinners fans across the globe spewing heartfelt praises and the like, yet Klavier Gavin latches onto the half-hearted mumbles of hers and is pleased when she isn't flinging her snacks at him with the intent to kill.

She decides she needs to research a bit more into the specimen that is Klavier Gavin.

4) After scientifically searching the internet for the appropriate slang and definition, Ema comes to the conclusion that Klavier Gavin is a low-maintenance type of guy (in certain situations.)

*Low-maintenance: a term that describes a person that is easily pleased by little things; does not require intensive care, one who is genuinely happy with the barest essentials (in relationship, etc.)

However, there is a blatant contradiction with her first finding. Put one and one together and—he is considered high-maintenance… and low-maintenance?

Scientifically, it doesn't make sense.

"Fräulein detektiv~"

Ema jerks, hand nearly knocking over the files she has stacked to her right. After catching her breath, she turns to glare at the source of the voice.

"What do you want, fop?"

He has that same boyish lopsided smile that Ema finds oddly…fitting on his face. It was a bit more honest than the crafted, polite smiles and the taunting smirks. It was—dare, she say it—almost sincere.

(Though the thought of Klavier Gavin being sincere with that foppish attitude of his—Ema shudders.)

"Was that Guilty Love I heard you humming just a few moments ago?"

And the smile reduces into one of an amused smirk and Klavier has his hands resting on his waist.

Ema shoos him away from her desk with a flick of a hand, eyes returning to the reports on her desk. "My god, fop, don't inflate your own ego. That song is bound to be stuck in anyone's head if you sang it to them for hours on end."

The lyrics were cheesy as hell and made as little sense as his foppish ways. It's a stupid song to have spinning in her head throughout the night and next morning. It is a complete torment.

"But you enjoyed it, ja? My voice, at the very least?"

But his voice—his voice was nice, she'll give him that. It was melodious and after hearing him sing, she can recognize the soft purr of a rhythm dancing in his words even when he talks. It suddenly became very mesmerizing listening to him analyze records out loud, especially with the lilts of his German accent— Stupid fop, how does he talk like that?

Ema coughs as she realizes there's still said fop behind her, "Sure, whatever."

She hears the G-necklace around his neck clang against the back of her office chair and there's a breath over her head.

Tan fingers brush down her arm and leaves a small ticket stub in the palm of her hand.

"This is…?" She brings it close and squints at it. She barely can make out the blurred words—it was a ticket stub of some kind.

"A coupon for a concert, mein liebe."

"A concert—" Ema mutters, she flips over the ticket stub. No such information. "…a concert? Didn't you say you weren't doing anymore concerts?!"

Klavier laughs, soft and low. "A small concert, a one-man audience sort of thing. Whenever mein liebe wants, I will perform. Versprechen— I promise!"

Ema gives him a blank look, thoroughly distracted by the smooth flow of his accented English and the earnest smile on his face.

"Uhm…fop—"

"Shall I mention that transportation and a five-star dinner are provided as well?" he adds with a click of his tongue.

Ema stares back.

That actually sounds nice—the offer. (Not his voice, Ema tells herself.)

"Of course, it's whenever you're free," Klavier continues, smile slipping as he glances to the side. "I wouldn't want to get in your way of…work."

She blinks.

"…right."

"Na dann, I'll let you alone to finish your reports." Klavier says after patting Ema's head which sank her back to reality. He steps away with a light bounce in his step. Before he whisked around the corner, Klavier stops and gives a wink.

"I expect them on my desk tomorrow morning, fraulein~ Don't daydream too much about me~"

Ema flushes red and grips the hems of her lab coat.

"Who would?! You glimmerous fop!"

When she gets back to her little apartment, Ema puts the so-called coupon under an x-ray scanner to look for fingerprints— all hers and the fop's of course— or some kind of hidden message that was washed away with lots of water.

What she found out was that the coupon was an old ticket stub to the last Gavinners concert.

In other words, it's a piece of scrap paper Klavier probably dug from his pant pockets and gave to her on a whim, claiming that she can redeem a free concert and a free meal to go with that.

Weird.

She pulls up a notebook with her conclusions and notes jotted down.

Her daily observation of the specimen in question, Klavier Gavin, has led her to strongly believe that he is a glimmerous fop needing everything to work perfectly the way he wants it otherwise he throws unimaginable fits. According to the internet, such persons like that are labeled high-maintenance.

And yet recent findings reveal another possibility that he may be quite the opposite.

Klavier Gavin has demonstrated unfoppiness and contentment with unusually simple things and gestures (as seen in the exchange between Ema and specimen.)

The coupon is solid evidence of something called thoughtfulness—something that is rare in a breed such as Klavier Gavin.

Free entertainment and free food? Something seems awfully suspicious about the sudden selflessness.

But she really can't put a finger on it.

Confused, Ema decides to stick the coupon under a small bowl of confectioneries to think about later.

She will have to consult with Lana about the differences between high-maintenance and low-maintenance persons.

Then perhaps she could figure out which of the two the fop is.

Maybe she'll ask Lana about what to categorize Klavier Gavin as…

But…scientifically, it still doesn't make sense.

AN: It doesn't make sense scientifically because Ema is forgetting a little something called love~ Jokes aside, I tried a different approach to the Klema relationship.

I absolutely love Klavier being the smooth, cool guy he usually is, but I figured I wanted to see the prissy and upset perfectionist Klavier that we see during the Gavinner's concert. 8 u 8 It's fun to touch on the perfectionist side of Klavier.

And Ema— I'd think that since this is post-AJ, she would have understood that not all the fault of Phoenix's disbarment is on him, so she's not as disdainful towards him as she is in the games. Though tbh, I'm not really quite sure if they're acting canon or not, ha ha;;

Hope you enjoyed it! Sorry for my rambles. XD

AS ALWAYS, these stories spawn from doodles and pictures I've drawn. Feel free to check it out~

The cover of Klavier's solo album: kyunyo.()tumblr.()com/post/51370600622

Klavier singing Guilty Love: kyunyo.()tumblr.()com/post/51380981206

And of course, both pictures have a link to the lyricized (Japanese) song of Guilty Love, which is quite addictive to listen to, I must admit. *q*

*please remove the parenthesis!