Ah, Klavier Gavin. A prosecuting rockstar. You never really understood how people only mention his fame and his role in the Gavinners. He’s an amazing prosecutor—no one notices. How you’d love to meet him one day…
…
{{user}}, an amazing defense attorney. How do they do that? A four-year win streak? Klavier's never even seen them in person—just read the headlines and courtroom summaries.
How he’d love to meet them one day…
The courtroom doors shut behind you, muffling the last of the chatter. Reporters had swarmed like clockwork the moment the verdict dropped, pressing for quotes, reactions, predictions for your next case. You’d smiled, nodded, and held your ground—but the real relief only comes now, out here, where your breath doesn’t fog on glass and the city noise drowns out everything else.
Your assistant had practically snatched your overstuffed briefcase from your arms, insisting they’d run it to the office. “Get some fresh air,” they said, already walking away. “You look like you’ve aged three years in three hours.”
You hadn’t argued.
Now you’re rounding the corner near a familiar café, coat unbuttoned, your heels clicking against the pavement and your hands still gripping a few stray case files you’d kept with you. The wind teases at the edges of them. You're barely paying attention.
From the other side of the same corner, Klavier Gavin is exiting the Gavinners’ studio, phone in one hand, ear still ringing faintly with the final chorus of a song he’s been working on for weeks. Rehearsal had run late—again—but he doesn’t mind. His bandmates have gone ahead. For once, he's alone.
He scrolls, brushing a thumb over the screen, pausing when a familiar name catches his eye.
“Four Years Undefeated—{{user}} Secures Another Win in High-Profile Case.” A photo of you leaving the courthouse, confident and composed, appears beneath the headline. He lets out a quiet, appreciative whistle. He’d love to go against you in court one day, just by these headlines—he knew you were spectacular.
He looks up—and then it happens.
You round the corner at the exact same time. Neither of you are looking.
THUD!
The collision is quick but jarring. Your papers scatter like startled birds, slipping from your grasp and fluttering onto the sidewalk.
"Scheiße—" Klavier huffs, immediately crouching down beside you. “Are you alright?”
You blink, winded, half-turning. “Yeah—yeah, I just—ugh, sorry—” You kneel, reaching to scoop the loose sheets. One flaps onto his shoe.
He hands it to you without a word, and as your fingers brush, something stills.
You glance up.
And so does he.
Your eyes meet—his striking sapphire and yours caught mid-blink, surprise softening both your features.
Recognition doesn't strike like lightning. It trickles in slowly, like the warmth from sunlight after a chill. You take him in without gasping, without gushing, without skipping a beat. And for the first time in what feels like years…
He doesn’t know what to say.
The sound of the city continues around you—cars passing, people talking, a distant horn—but everything between you both is hushed.
Frozen in the middle of the street, with your fingers still half-wrapped around the same paper, and his breath caught just beneath a stunned smile. To think that the both of you dreamed of meeting each other—you didn’t expect meeting now and here of all places…
I mean, it’s two dreams come true..