[ PHOENIX WRIGHT ]
verteufelts
It was something that had fallen into more of a routine than he had intended. Granted clearance to the solitary confinement cells by the guard at the door, magatama clutched tightly in hand & a bag hung from his wrist. Coming across the cell, he stopped just short of the middle, turning on his heel to face him with a disappointed expression. He could say nothing, but he didn’t need to. They both knew why he was here.
Something told him to keep going back. The same something that led him to decide to be here today, to spend Valentine’s Day with Kristoph of all people in this world — the filthy murderer who snatched away his badge & hope with forged evidence & a disgusting facade. To make his intentions to pry again, pry until those black locks were destroyed so that it would push off his own conscious & maybe then he could be free.
The personal attachment seemed to continue to fester and grow the same as it started those seven years ago, the more he let Kristoph Gavin keep him so close at bay with these unsolved questions. These visits should have been over a year ago, the full signal that Phoenix Wright was not in his palm — but he found himself there again & again, wishing for the slightest bit of truth in his words & maybe even an excuse.
Sympathy for the devil, even if he’d never defend the guilty.
When Phoenix Wright visits, each time it is expected. Kristoph plans a multitude of manners in which he can ensure Phoenix's loyalty, the kind that keeps him coming back for more with every word off Kristoph's lips, every run of manicured nails through his hair or lips pressed firm against one anothers, meeting just as passionately as the first time. Kristoph should not be written off as ingenuine in his actions towards Phoenix, they are not at all. He never speaks as though he loves Phoenix, lets him think that this is more or less than what it is, in fact he is perfectly honest. Kristoph is using him, caring for him when he is down, and letting him cry in his lap when the world is just too much, but Kristoph would be damned were he to let Wright slip from his grasp. It would be betrayal on a grand scale and not one he cared to face.
Before Kristoph now, here Phoenix is. Something in him seemed torn and tormented, as if being here was unbearable, but Kristoph greeted him with a smile, as always, welcoming him into the cell and allowing him to get comfortable. It is only when he see's Phoenix's expression that Kristoph lets his own fall, etch with concern for Phoenix that he always shows. It's that worry, that warmth he tries to give Phoenix, that Kristoph believes allows him to justify coming back every time. Kristoph is a murderer, has admitted that and the truth of their relationship to Phoenix on more than one account, but something tethers the other man to him and playing on that suits Kristoph magnificently.
❝Phoenix, it is a holiday yet you look so glum. Please, tell me what is the matter.❞ They are the same words he would speak when it all began over seven years in the past, the same curve of lips, and crinkle of the eyes, but now they both know the truth of it, of what intent lies behind the mask Kristoph has let fall once in his life. There are no more secrets here, not the ones that Kristoph can speak of. It must always be this way, ever falling further towards the earth in this game they insist on playing even now.
