rinchdressing (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rinchdressing) wrote2025-05-26 01:34 pm
rinchdressing) wrote2025-05-26 01:34 pm
sleeping on a leash
sleeping on a leash
Fandom: Ace Attorney
The Gavinners’ first tour is only ten days long. It’s hardly a tour at all, honestly, just four shows in three small venues across the state of California with five musicians taking turns driving the cramped car. Klavier feels like pulling his hair out on day two.
Their tour kicks off locally. They’ve finally managed to book a venue outside their usual coffee shops and have a humble merch stand to boot. (And the sales are… acceptable.) After the show, they all spend their last nights at home before the drive the next day. Leaving makes Klavier feel sick to his stomach.
It’s not that he hasn’t been away from home (from Kristoph) before, not by a long shot. It’s just that a year abroad in Germany had a level of certainty to it that his passion for music never provides.
In Germany, he’d spent his days at school, his nights studying, and his weekends working part time. Kristoph called every Sunday at 19:00, (10am in Los Angeles,) and they spoke for twenty minutes until the next week. He calculated exactly what scores he’d need to pass each class, and he knew the end goal. He was going to be a prosecutor, and he was going to face his brother in court once he was done.
Performing doesn’t have such a concrete plan. The end goal isn’t something he can account for. He can put on a perfect show, and he can try to ensure his bandmates do the same, and that won’t guarantee a thing if the crowd doesn’t like them. If the crowd doesn’t like him.
Also, he was old enough to drink back in Berlin. Which was nice.
When he’d graduated with his badge, he’d moved right back home to LA, where he’d been renting out the basement of Kristoph’s house. They existed with an easy routine. Each of them would go to work, and afterwards, look over paperwork from the day and eat dinner together at home. It was simple.
Before dinner, Kristoph always made iced tea. On the first day of the road trip to San Francisco, Klavier bought a bottle from the gas station. It was so sweet it made his teeth ache. On the second day, he didn’t bother with trying that again.
On day three they have their second show. It’s in a bar that four of the five really shouldn’t be in, but it’s not a particularly upstanding place, so they were booked anyway. When they make it back to the motel room, their bassist buys them a six pack of beers and Daryan gives Klavier another bottle of ice tea. It’s a nice gesture. He dumps the tea and beer into one glass and tries not to gag at the flavor.
On the fourth day, they’re piled back into the car and driving to their next destination. Klavier’s whole body is sore from the show, but at least it went well. The audience liked them. The audience liked him. Searching their name after the show has actual results; fans talking about their next show instead of just the one Indie Band Updates bot he’s so used to seeing.
He’s sore, and he’s proud, and he’s happy, and he’s guilty. It’s a Monday. Last night, he hadn’t called Kristoph. He hadn’t even texted him.
(A more rational mind would realize Kristoph hadn’t contacted him either, but Klavier has never been particularly rational in regards to his brother.)
They hadn’t exactly made any plans to call at any point during his trip. But it still felt bad. And worst of all, it wasn’t… entirely awful.
There was something nice about ditching the formalities. There was something nice about ditching Kristoph.
And there lies the issue. Klavier is not stupid. He’s fully aware he’s a little too dependent on Kristoph, and even more aware that Kristoph is a little too dependent on him. However, breaking that dependency is painful. It’s uncomfortable. So until it poses a real issue, why would Klavier bother to try?
(It’s hardly an issue, anyways. They’re both successful enough to fake normality.)
After San Francisco, they have another show in LA.
Kristoph attends this concert, which is nerve-wracking. It’s the same venue as their previous Los Angeles concert, with a bigger turn out, and Klavier’s brother looks bizarre and out-of-place among the crowd. He’s got his hair pulled up in a ponytail, but his wardrobe doesn’t really do casual, so he’s wearing one of Klavier’s band-tees and a pair of jeans. He stays further back in the audience, closer to the bar than the stage.
Klavier does his best to forget about him while putting on the most flawless performance of his life. Because if it isn’t flawless when Kristoph sees it, Klavier thinks he might just throw up.
He doesn’t meet them backstage, thankfully. But he texts Klavier that it was a good show, and he’ll see him at home.
Klavier cuts the usual after-show festivities short, though everyone is plenty happy to crash in their own beds again. Daryan comes home with Klavier, but quickly passes out in Klavier’s bed with little pretense. So Klavier goes upstairs to chat with his brother until the adrenaline leaves his system.
Kristoph’s in the kitchen when he gets there, sipping from a mug of hot tea. He’s holding his palm flush to the side instead of using the handle, like he does when his joints are aching.
“What’d you think of the show?” Klavier asks, trying not to seem too desperate for approval.
“It was impressive.” He smiles. “Very different from your old piano recitals.”
Klavier takes a seat across from him at the table. “Those were always too stuffy for my liking.”
“Yes, I do remember you saying as much.” He stands up, walking toward the fridge and retrieving a pitcher. “I made tea, I assume you don’t want yours heated?”
“No thanks.”
Kristoph slides him a glass and sits back down. “The audience seemed to really like your performance.”
“Danke.” Klavier grins. “They were even louder in San Francisco.” Probably because that crowd was rather drunk, but he doesn’t mention that. He takes a sip. It’s comforting.
“I’m very happy for you.” His voice feels far away. Klavier can see it though. Kristoph’s right hand is positioned on the handle of the mug delicately, awkwardly. In the same way one would hold the bow of a violin. His pointer finger doesn’t bend all the way though. His pointer finger can’t bend all the way anymore.
Klavier hadn’t really considered it when he extended the invitation, and now he feels like a real arschgeige. Kristoph hadn’t played the violin since he got that scar on his hand, since his grip strength had been weakened too much to hold a bow steadily.
Inviting him to a concert of all things must have felt like a slap to the face.
Klavier isn’t sure how to approach the topic, so he doesn’t. He finishes his tea, wishes Kristoph a goodnight, and takes his leave.
His dreams sound like a beautiful violin solo, interrupted randomly by harsh notes and clattering wood against the ground. One eight-count flawless, and the next a painful shriek of strings snapping.
They spend a couple extra days at home around their show there. It helps them avoid extra costs of laundry services and take-out.
Daryan’s parents weren’t ever too fond of this whole thing, so he crashes at Klavier’s place. It’s hardly unusual for them, anyway.
Kristoph isn’t a huge fan of Daryan though. He’s too brash, too loud. He’s a bad influence, as far as Kristoph is concerned. (Not that Kristoph ever says as much.) So Daryan doesn’t bother trying to eat dinner with Klavier’s brother. And Klavier isn’t a terrible host, so he doesn’t either. They see each other in passing, and everything feels cold.
Klavier’s happy to leave for their next show after that. Goodbyes with Kristoph are tense, and he doesn’t hold out any hope for a hug. Not in front of Daryan and the others, at least. (I’ll see you on Sunday, ja?)
The eighth day feels like being kicked back to day one. He feels weird and he misses his routine with Kristoph despite it not even happening the past three days. The car ride is productive, at least. Their keyboardist is dozing on Klavier’s shoulder while he types any and all lyrics he thinks of into his notes app. By the time the drive is over, he has a rough draft for a song and a half.
They’ve got two motel rooms in San Diego, which is nice. Klavier and Daryan are sharing one, while the other three gladly chose to be in a room without Klavier and Daryan. Which stings a little, their PDA isn’t anything egregious. But he enjoys the privacy regardless.
Klavier’s sitting on the bed with his laptop in front of him when Daryan gets out of the shower.
“You should get some rest before the show tomorrow.” Daryan says. He’s got on a baggy t-shirt and boxers and his hair is dripping water all over his shoulders. He never bothers to towel dry it before invading Klavier’s personal space.
“I’ll sleep in.” Klavier replies, leaning back from the keyboard.
Daryan pushes the laptop shut. Good thing his lyrics are saved automatically. “Hah! You and I both know that’s not happening.” He sits down next to Klavier and leans against the pillows. “You’ll wake up bright and early and then you’ll wake me up to practice.”
Klavier knows he’s right. It’s irritating. But he is tired. “Ja. Okay. Give me a moment to turn this off then.” He leans back to his laptop, opening it up again to close his tabs and shut it down. Daryan watches with the strange reverence of someone who doesn’t ever bother with the proper process of turning a computer off. Which Klavier knows to be the case.
He gets ready for bed and lays down next to Daryan, who has now gotten comfortable under the covers.
Daryan wraps an arm around his stomach. “Aren’t tours ‘sposed to be when the uptight musicians take a break from writing new material?”
Klavier ignores Daryan’s wet hair sticking to his neck. “If I don’t write it down I’ll never get it out of my head.” He’d mentioned that before, but he’d never met anyone other than Kristoph who seemed to understand quite what he meant.
“Right.” Daryan mumbled. “G’night, Rockstar.”
“Goodnight.”
On day ten, Klavier (predictably) wakes up bright and early and full of nervous energy. So he spends the morning editing those lyrics again, and when he’s out of ideas there, he unpacks his guitar and alternates between practicing for the show tonight and composing new tracks. It wakes Daryan up, as expected.
The show that night, the last show of their tour, goes well. It’s their biggest one yet, and even drums up a decent buzz on social media. They even sold out of signed CDs this time, for the first time in their career. Klavier hopes the upward momentum continues that way.
They have their biggest celebration back at the motel afterwards, though it only lasts about forty minutes before everyone’s exhaustion sets in. And everyone is tired of watching Klavier try to sit in Daryan’s lap. So the bassist drags Klavier to the bathroom to brush his teeth and sends him to bed where Daryan had long-since passed out.
When Klavier makes it home at 5pm on Sunday night, after convincing Daryan to go back to his own house for once, Kristoph is tucked away in his office. Klavier peeks in the doorway.
“What are you working on?” He asks.
Kristoph startles, but recovers quickly. “You’re back.”
“In the flesh.” Klavier spreads his arms, being far too showy for someone that spent the last three hours in a car. His outfit is wrinkled and the hair on his neck feels sweaty.
It doesn’t matter though, not when Kristoph stands up and actually hugs him this time. It’s brief, but nice.
“Welcome home.” He pats Klavier’s shoulder awkwardly before sitting back down. “I was just looking over some job applications. I’m hoping to hire a new intern.”
“Oh? What for?” Klavier had thought Kristoph would never hire another intern after the last one spilled acetone all over the office carpet.
“I’ve been hired for a rather high-profile client soon. I’m hoping it brings in a little more business when I win. And with more business comes more paperwork.”
Klavier hums in acknowledgement. “And these are your candidates?” There’s no faces to put the names to, so Klavier doesn’t bother reading them.
“These are the three I’ll be interviewing, at least.” Kristoph didn’t speak with much enthusiasm. “Have you thought about taking your own case yet?”
Klavier frowns. “Ja. I’ll look into it more soon.” He takes a seat on Kristoph’s desk and ignores the scowl his brother is directing at him.
“You know, Klavier…” Kristoph clicks his pen. “I don’t believe they’ve chosen a prosecutor for the case I’m working. Perhaps you could submit your name for it.”
Klavier smirks. “You seemed pretty confident you’d win this one. Are you sure you’re ready to lose your good publicity?”
“I’m certain I won’t.”
Kristoph does lose out on his good publicity, but at least he doesn’t lose it to Klavier. He does hire an intern too, despite everything. Klavier pities the guy; Kristoph is a difficult man to please even when he’s in a good mood.
Klavier isn’t exactly feeling much better. The Gavinners are doing startlingly well, having exploded in popularity right after their last concert. His law career is arguably in an even better position. Exposing Phoenix Wright for forgery rocketed him to renown in the legal world just as fast as one viral video did for his band.
It might just kill him. Suffocating in success… he used to dream of the day. But now Kristoph is in another funk and pulling long hours at work every day.
It’s like touring all over again, but worse. His routine is in disarray and he doesn’t even get to do anything fun to warrant it. He can’t go into the office without getting swarmed by fans and the house is empty at all hours. He’s not being assigned any new cases anyway, so working from home consists of tedious, menial tasks. He’s lonely and bored and permanently understimulated and it’s not like he can work on any new music in that state.
So, he figures, he might as well choose the grey cloud that actually has a silver lining. The Gavinners have a manager now, so after checking with the other members, he calls her to schedule a few more shows.
The Gavinners’ first tour was only ten days long. The Gavinners’ second tour bleeds right into the third, and then into the fourth. And of course they need another six months when they put out their fifth album. And suddenly, when Klavier gets back home, he’s seven years older and his brother won’t be meeting him back at home this time.
my sister is out of town for a week and i started getting bored and lonely by day two. so this happened. enjoy.
Fandom: Ace Attorney
Characters: Klavier Gavin, Kristoph Gavin, Daryan Crescend, world's vaguest mention of Apollo Justice
Pairings: Klavier Gavin/Daryan Crescend (background)
Warnings: Some spoilers for Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney. A couple mentions of alcohol.
Word Count: 2522
Notes: pre-gramarye trial, in the very early gavinners days.
He’s sore, and he’s proud, and he’s happy, and he’s guilty. It’s a Monday. Last night, he hadn’t called Kristoph. He hadn’t even texted him.
(A more rational mind would realize Kristoph hadn’t contacted him either, but Klavier has never been particularly rational in regards to his brother.)
The Gavinners’ first tour is only ten days long. It’s hardly a tour at all, honestly, just four shows in three small venues across the state of California with five musicians taking turns driving the cramped car. Klavier feels like pulling his hair out on day two.
Their tour kicks off locally. They’ve finally managed to book a venue outside their usual coffee shops and have a humble merch stand to boot. (And the sales are… acceptable.) After the show, they all spend their last nights at home before the drive the next day. Leaving makes Klavier feel sick to his stomach.
It’s not that he hasn’t been away from home (from Kristoph) before, not by a long shot. It’s just that a year abroad in Germany had a level of certainty to it that his passion for music never provides.
In Germany, he’d spent his days at school, his nights studying, and his weekends working part time. Kristoph called every Sunday at 19:00, (10am in Los Angeles,) and they spoke for twenty minutes until the next week. He calculated exactly what scores he’d need to pass each class, and he knew the end goal. He was going to be a prosecutor, and he was going to face his brother in court once he was done.
Performing doesn’t have such a concrete plan. The end goal isn’t something he can account for. He can put on a perfect show, and he can try to ensure his bandmates do the same, and that won’t guarantee a thing if the crowd doesn’t like them. If the crowd doesn’t like him.
Also, he was old enough to drink back in Berlin. Which was nice.
When he’d graduated with his badge, he’d moved right back home to LA, where he’d been renting out the basement of Kristoph’s house. They existed with an easy routine. Each of them would go to work, and afterwards, look over paperwork from the day and eat dinner together at home. It was simple.
Before dinner, Kristoph always made iced tea. On the first day of the road trip to San Francisco, Klavier bought a bottle from the gas station. It was so sweet it made his teeth ache. On the second day, he didn’t bother with trying that again.
On day three they have their second show. It’s in a bar that four of the five really shouldn’t be in, but it’s not a particularly upstanding place, so they were booked anyway. When they make it back to the motel room, their bassist buys them a six pack of beers and Daryan gives Klavier another bottle of ice tea. It’s a nice gesture. He dumps the tea and beer into one glass and tries not to gag at the flavor.
On the fourth day, they’re piled back into the car and driving to their next destination. Klavier’s whole body is sore from the show, but at least it went well. The audience liked them. The audience liked him. Searching their name after the show has actual results; fans talking about their next show instead of just the one Indie Band Updates bot he’s so used to seeing.
He’s sore, and he’s proud, and he’s happy, and he’s guilty. It’s a Monday. Last night, he hadn’t called Kristoph. He hadn’t even texted him.
(A more rational mind would realize Kristoph hadn’t contacted him either, but Klavier has never been particularly rational in regards to his brother.)
They hadn’t exactly made any plans to call at any point during his trip. But it still felt bad. And worst of all, it wasn’t… entirely awful.
There was something nice about ditching the formalities. There was something nice about ditching Kristoph.
And there lies the issue. Klavier is not stupid. He’s fully aware he’s a little too dependent on Kristoph, and even more aware that Kristoph is a little too dependent on him. However, breaking that dependency is painful. It’s uncomfortable. So until it poses a real issue, why would Klavier bother to try?
(It’s hardly an issue, anyways. They’re both successful enough to fake normality.)
After San Francisco, they have another show in LA.
Kristoph attends this concert, which is nerve-wracking. It’s the same venue as their previous Los Angeles concert, with a bigger turn out, and Klavier’s brother looks bizarre and out-of-place among the crowd. He’s got his hair pulled up in a ponytail, but his wardrobe doesn’t really do casual, so he’s wearing one of Klavier’s band-tees and a pair of jeans. He stays further back in the audience, closer to the bar than the stage.
Klavier does his best to forget about him while putting on the most flawless performance of his life. Because if it isn’t flawless when Kristoph sees it, Klavier thinks he might just throw up.
He doesn’t meet them backstage, thankfully. But he texts Klavier that it was a good show, and he’ll see him at home.
Klavier cuts the usual after-show festivities short, though everyone is plenty happy to crash in their own beds again. Daryan comes home with Klavier, but quickly passes out in Klavier’s bed with little pretense. So Klavier goes upstairs to chat with his brother until the adrenaline leaves his system.
Kristoph’s in the kitchen when he gets there, sipping from a mug of hot tea. He’s holding his palm flush to the side instead of using the handle, like he does when his joints are aching.
“What’d you think of the show?” Klavier asks, trying not to seem too desperate for approval.
“It was impressive.” He smiles. “Very different from your old piano recitals.”
Klavier takes a seat across from him at the table. “Those were always too stuffy for my liking.”
“Yes, I do remember you saying as much.” He stands up, walking toward the fridge and retrieving a pitcher. “I made tea, I assume you don’t want yours heated?”
“No thanks.”
Kristoph slides him a glass and sits back down. “The audience seemed to really like your performance.”
“Danke.” Klavier grins. “They were even louder in San Francisco.” Probably because that crowd was rather drunk, but he doesn’t mention that. He takes a sip. It’s comforting.
“I’m very happy for you.” His voice feels far away. Klavier can see it though. Kristoph’s right hand is positioned on the handle of the mug delicately, awkwardly. In the same way one would hold the bow of a violin. His pointer finger doesn’t bend all the way though. His pointer finger can’t bend all the way anymore.
Klavier hadn’t really considered it when he extended the invitation, and now he feels like a real arschgeige. Kristoph hadn’t played the violin since he got that scar on his hand, since his grip strength had been weakened too much to hold a bow steadily.
Inviting him to a concert of all things must have felt like a slap to the face.
Klavier isn’t sure how to approach the topic, so he doesn’t. He finishes his tea, wishes Kristoph a goodnight, and takes his leave.
His dreams sound like a beautiful violin solo, interrupted randomly by harsh notes and clattering wood against the ground. One eight-count flawless, and the next a painful shriek of strings snapping.
They spend a couple extra days at home around their show there. It helps them avoid extra costs of laundry services and take-out.
Daryan’s parents weren’t ever too fond of this whole thing, so he crashes at Klavier’s place. It’s hardly unusual for them, anyway.
Kristoph isn’t a huge fan of Daryan though. He’s too brash, too loud. He’s a bad influence, as far as Kristoph is concerned. (Not that Kristoph ever says as much.) So Daryan doesn’t bother trying to eat dinner with Klavier’s brother. And Klavier isn’t a terrible host, so he doesn’t either. They see each other in passing, and everything feels cold.
Klavier’s happy to leave for their next show after that. Goodbyes with Kristoph are tense, and he doesn’t hold out any hope for a hug. Not in front of Daryan and the others, at least. (I’ll see you on Sunday, ja?)
The eighth day feels like being kicked back to day one. He feels weird and he misses his routine with Kristoph despite it not even happening the past three days. The car ride is productive, at least. Their keyboardist is dozing on Klavier’s shoulder while he types any and all lyrics he thinks of into his notes app. By the time the drive is over, he has a rough draft for a song and a half.
They’ve got two motel rooms in San Diego, which is nice. Klavier and Daryan are sharing one, while the other three gladly chose to be in a room without Klavier and Daryan. Which stings a little, their PDA isn’t anything egregious. But he enjoys the privacy regardless.
Klavier’s sitting on the bed with his laptop in front of him when Daryan gets out of the shower.
“You should get some rest before the show tomorrow.” Daryan says. He’s got on a baggy t-shirt and boxers and his hair is dripping water all over his shoulders. He never bothers to towel dry it before invading Klavier’s personal space.
“I’ll sleep in.” Klavier replies, leaning back from the keyboard.
Daryan pushes the laptop shut. Good thing his lyrics are saved automatically. “Hah! You and I both know that’s not happening.” He sits down next to Klavier and leans against the pillows. “You’ll wake up bright and early and then you’ll wake me up to practice.”
Klavier knows he’s right. It’s irritating. But he is tired. “Ja. Okay. Give me a moment to turn this off then.” He leans back to his laptop, opening it up again to close his tabs and shut it down. Daryan watches with the strange reverence of someone who doesn’t ever bother with the proper process of turning a computer off. Which Klavier knows to be the case.
He gets ready for bed and lays down next to Daryan, who has now gotten comfortable under the covers.
Daryan wraps an arm around his stomach. “Aren’t tours ‘sposed to be when the uptight musicians take a break from writing new material?”
Klavier ignores Daryan’s wet hair sticking to his neck. “If I don’t write it down I’ll never get it out of my head.” He’d mentioned that before, but he’d never met anyone other than Kristoph who seemed to understand quite what he meant.
“Right.” Daryan mumbled. “G’night, Rockstar.”
“Goodnight.”
On day ten, Klavier (predictably) wakes up bright and early and full of nervous energy. So he spends the morning editing those lyrics again, and when he’s out of ideas there, he unpacks his guitar and alternates between practicing for the show tonight and composing new tracks. It wakes Daryan up, as expected.
The show that night, the last show of their tour, goes well. It’s their biggest one yet, and even drums up a decent buzz on social media. They even sold out of signed CDs this time, for the first time in their career. Klavier hopes the upward momentum continues that way.
They have their biggest celebration back at the motel afterwards, though it only lasts about forty minutes before everyone’s exhaustion sets in. And everyone is tired of watching Klavier try to sit in Daryan’s lap. So the bassist drags Klavier to the bathroom to brush his teeth and sends him to bed where Daryan had long-since passed out.
When Klavier makes it home at 5pm on Sunday night, after convincing Daryan to go back to his own house for once, Kristoph is tucked away in his office. Klavier peeks in the doorway.
“What are you working on?” He asks.
Kristoph startles, but recovers quickly. “You’re back.”
“In the flesh.” Klavier spreads his arms, being far too showy for someone that spent the last three hours in a car. His outfit is wrinkled and the hair on his neck feels sweaty.
It doesn’t matter though, not when Kristoph stands up and actually hugs him this time. It’s brief, but nice.
“Welcome home.” He pats Klavier’s shoulder awkwardly before sitting back down. “I was just looking over some job applications. I’m hoping to hire a new intern.”
“Oh? What for?” Klavier had thought Kristoph would never hire another intern after the last one spilled acetone all over the office carpet.
“I’ve been hired for a rather high-profile client soon. I’m hoping it brings in a little more business when I win. And with more business comes more paperwork.”
Klavier hums in acknowledgement. “And these are your candidates?” There’s no faces to put the names to, so Klavier doesn’t bother reading them.
“These are the three I’ll be interviewing, at least.” Kristoph didn’t speak with much enthusiasm. “Have you thought about taking your own case yet?”
Klavier frowns. “Ja. I’ll look into it more soon.” He takes a seat on Kristoph’s desk and ignores the scowl his brother is directing at him.
“You know, Klavier…” Kristoph clicks his pen. “I don’t believe they’ve chosen a prosecutor for the case I’m working. Perhaps you could submit your name for it.”
Klavier smirks. “You seemed pretty confident you’d win this one. Are you sure you’re ready to lose your good publicity?”
“I’m certain I won’t.”
Kristoph does lose out on his good publicity, but at least he doesn’t lose it to Klavier. He does hire an intern too, despite everything. Klavier pities the guy; Kristoph is a difficult man to please even when he’s in a good mood.
Klavier isn’t exactly feeling much better. The Gavinners are doing startlingly well, having exploded in popularity right after their last concert. His law career is arguably in an even better position. Exposing Phoenix Wright for forgery rocketed him to renown in the legal world just as fast as one viral video did for his band.
It might just kill him. Suffocating in success… he used to dream of the day. But now Kristoph is in another funk and pulling long hours at work every day.
It’s like touring all over again, but worse. His routine is in disarray and he doesn’t even get to do anything fun to warrant it. He can’t go into the office without getting swarmed by fans and the house is empty at all hours. He’s not being assigned any new cases anyway, so working from home consists of tedious, menial tasks. He’s lonely and bored and permanently understimulated and it’s not like he can work on any new music in that state.
So, he figures, he might as well choose the grey cloud that actually has a silver lining. The Gavinners have a manager now, so after checking with the other members, he calls her to schedule a few more shows.
The Gavinners’ first tour was only ten days long. The Gavinners’ second tour bleeds right into the third, and then into the fourth. And of course they need another six months when they put out their fifth album. And suddenly, when Klavier gets back home, he’s seven years older and his brother won’t be meeting him back at home this time.
my sister is out of town for a week and i started getting bored and lonely by day two. so this happened. enjoy.