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Suddenly, Kristoph was at his back as Phoenix played the piano, sighing exaggeratedly as he leaned over to lay a hand over the so-called pianist’s own, gently pressing down to urge the hand below to play the proper keys and tune. Bewildered at the other man’s closeness, Phoenix could only stare at his hand being forced to play, as if suddenly detached from the appendage.
“I’m not sure this is entirely necessary.”
Kristoph only continued, smiling where Phoenix could not see him. “You aren’t nervous, are you?”
“No, but you sure are acting strange.”
“Is that not why we’re friends? A trait shared between two souls, scorned otherwise by those who would not understand from the outside looking in.”
“I can’t tell if you’re trying to be poetic or insulting.” Phoenix heard the man chuckle from behind him and lean closer still, undeterred by the pianist’s protests.
“Just relax; you’re getting too tense,” the man sighed, continuing to guide Phoenix’s hand across the keys. “I’m just trying to teach you what a piano is meant to sound like.”
“Yeah, but this…?” Phoenix indicated Kristoph’s hand’s position over his own, all too aware that the feeling had come back to the limb. He wished it hadn’t.
“You can’t possibly call what you do to this poor instrument ‘music.’”
Phoenix snorted. “I don’t, but people don’t come here to listen to me play. You know my real work here.”
“Ah, yes,” Kristoph brought his hand away, allowing it to instead rest on Phoenix’s shoulder, an unnecessary reminder of the man’s position behind him. “The poker champion. Seven years without a loss, really?”
Phoenix shrugged. He hadn’t meant to force Kristoph’s hand off with the gesture but was silently pleased when it occurred regardless. “That’s the record as it stands.”
“Has anyone accused you of…” Kristoph seemed to struggle with the words, but Phoenix knew what was coming. “… foul play?”
Expecting it, expecting the twist of the knife, nevertheless did nothing to encourage Phoenix to respond immediately. There were no cheats, of course. But let the bastard think what he wanted to. Said bastard seemed to likewise expect the silence following his question, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his middle and fore finger. “Forgive me. That was rather insensitive of me.”
For a moment, Phoenix was silent, simply regarding the keys he’d left his hand on. Experimentally he pressed a key in, distantly noting the high-pitched note it resulted in, and followed up by pressing another few keys in quick succession, not melodious by any stretch of the imagination, and must have sounded – especially to someone like Kristoph – like a child poking obnoxiously at the keys. Phoenix had to face away to hide his pleased grin at the annoyed tut from behind him, before Kristoph’s hand came to his own once more to cease its offensive ministrations.
“At least have respect for the ears of your friend, if not for the instrument itself.”
If Phoenix had to choose, he would sooner respect the piano. “In any case, I don’t mind. About what you asked, I mean,” he added when he caught sight of the confusion in Kristoph’s face, a rare emotion indeed. “You know better than anyone about what happened back then.”
There was a minor pause; Phoenix bringing up the incident was clearly not something Kristoph had been anticipating, if his face was any indication. He seemed to settle on a proper thing to say eventually, placing his hand on Phoenix’s shoulder once more. “Don’t take it to heart. For a time, you were the best in your profession.”
“I wouldn’t say that. But it’s irrelevant anyway; I’m not an attorney anymore,” Phoenix did his best to keep his voice as flat as possible. Seven years at playing poker did wonders for masking one’s emotions, concealing the true nature of the game from behind half-lidded eyes and a comfortable look to his face – one of a content man, a man who was unaffected by the scandal that ruined his career. A man who was happily, if barely getting by; a man who had no one to blame but himself; a man didn’t know who caused it all. A man who could say nothing and do nothing until it could be proven.
“Such a pity,” Kristoph said, and even though Phoenix had looked away at this point, he could imagine the smile on the blond’s face. “Such a novice mistake.”
“… As for the poker, no. There’s been none of that,” Phoenix stressed, though he was pointedly addressing the piano, desperate for a topic change. “Though if I could figure out a way to cheat at piano playing, I just might…”
There was a squeeze at his shoulder. “Most call it ‘practicing.’”