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There was something incredibly fascinating about a man who had been so utterly, incontrovertibly, defeated. Kristoph couldn't tear his eyes away, as the Bar Association delivered their verdict and stripped Defense Attorney Phoenix Wright of his badge.
Well... ex defense attorney.
The moments that followed were surreal. Kristoph saw, in microscopic detail, the shock pass over Wright's face - the way his pupils constricted and his breath hitched, fingers tightening where they gripped the table, before slackening all at once. It was like he'd been hit over the head with the verdict, passing into a daze, into a dream. Those brown eyes became clouded over, and he simply nodded, and got to his feet.
He stumbled on his way to the door. Nobody said a word to him, feeling the solemnity in the air. Their part in this was done. This was Wright's moment now, his time to grieve, and it would be... improper, for any of them to say anything. It was only when the door closed behind him that the first person spoke, and the spell was broken.
No-one had anything particularly insightful to say after that, simply wanting the ugly business to be put behind them. It was just another Thursday afternoon for them, after all. But for Phoenix Wright, his life would never be the same again - and Kristoph was fascinated by that.
Politely dodging all attempts at conversation, Kristoph walked over to the window, overlooking the office's courtyard. Yes - there was Wright, emerging from the exit, standing out like a sore thumb in his bright blue suit. How many times had Kristoph seen that suit from the court gallery, confused and just a little disgusted by the bumbling attorney? Or seen it dart around a corner in front of him at the detention centre, always rushing, never prepared?
Would Wright ever wear that suit again? What did he even look like without it -
"Mr. Gavin?" a voice spoke behind him, and Kristoph glanced over his shoulder to see everyone packing up, getting ready to leave. "The senior members of the board are planning to get dinner, to discuss this decision and its potential ramifications. Would you care to join us?"
Almost instinctively, Kristoph looked back at the window. He saw Wright stop in the middle of the courtyard, suddenly and completely, as if realising he had nowhere to go. He looked so dreadfully... lost, in that moment. Kristoph noted him hesitating, before turning sideways and planting himself on a vacant bench.
"No," he decided, all too impulsively. It was a stupid decision. Invitations from the board were few and far between, and he was one of the younger members - this would have been the perfect opportunity to schmooze, and charm, and ingratiate himself with the senior members. But... "My apologies, but perhaps another time. I've still got some loose ends to tie up here."
And that was how Kristoph Gavin found himself in front of Phoenix Wright, sitting crying on a public bench.
Wright didn't notice him at first. In all honesty, Kristoph didn't think he noticed much of anything. He sat with his elbows on his knees, fingers covering his face, staring in shock at the paved floor, with the tears simply... welling from his eyes. He didn't shake. Didn't make a sound. Just sat there, and cried, as if the tears were happening to someone else.
Kristoph tilted his head slightly in curiosity. There was something almost statuesque in his grief. He decided to break it.
"Mr. Wright?"
Wright jumped like he'd been electrocuted, automatically going to wipe his eyes as he looked up at Kristoph. Kristoph himself made an effort to soften his face, letting his glasses slide down his nose so Wright could see his oh-so-sincere sincerity. "Feel free to tell me to leave, but I was wondering... how are you doing?"
"I -" Wright started, his voice gravelly and strained. He stared at Kristoph with wide eyes, a beat too slow when he said, "You're... Gavin, aren't you? Kristoph Gavin?"
A flicker of anger went through Kristoph. He'd been the only one to vote against Wright's disbarment, and the man couldn't even remember his name -
"That's right. I thought I'd check in on you, after everything that happened. I... can't imagine what you're going through."
At that, Wright let out a shaky laugh, sitting up so his back pressed against the seat. It was like an unspoken invitation, and so Kristoph took it, sitting cautiously in the seat next to him. He was mindful of the limited space on the bench, careful to preserve the ten inches of personal space between them.
"I can't imagine it, either," Wright said, a raw kind of truth in his voice. "I just... Honestly, it doesn't feel real. Like I'm watching it on TV. And then I - I think about getting up for work again tomorrow, and I just..."
In Wright's grief, he seemed to have lost all sense of perspective. He was spilling all this to a stranger, after all. Kristoph drank it in, shuffling forwards just a smidge, testing the boundary of those ten inches.
"It's a grave miscarriage of justice, Mr. Wright. I'm ashamed to have been part of it," he said quietly, letting his braid fall to obscure part of his face. He felt, rather than saw, Wright looking at him.
"...Yeah. You were the only one who voted against it, right?"
As if he hadn't known. Kristoph bit back a second wave of anger.
"Indeed. I can only apologise I couldn't convince more of my peers."
Wright continued to study him in silence. Kristoph dared a glimpse, and oh, how Wright's eyes fascinated. There was something so... fragile, about them. Open and raw and vulnerable and clear, almost like he couldn't help it. He wanted to burn the image into his mind and return to it, again and again.
"I... You have my thanks, Mr. Gavin. I appreciate it, more than I can say."
They lapsed into a momentary silence, Wright's earnestness hanging in the air between them. Well... Kristoph could at least be assured that Wright didn't suspect him. He fiddled with his glasses, trying to figure out his next move. Technically, this was the endgame of his plan. He'd given the forged evidence to the magician's daughter - gotten Wright to present it in court - goaded Klavier into calling his bluff - and gotten Wright disbarred. Now, he should be free to stop.
But the more he thought of it... what if Wright went digging? What if he found out who'd represented Gramarye before him? What if the little girl talked?
And what if, a little voice spoke up in his head, nobody ever looked at you with those eyes again?
"Did you have any plans for the rest of the evening, Mr. Wright?" he said, surprising even himself. He saw that surprise mirrored in Wright's quick look, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. Kristoph weighed his next words carefully. "Perhaps I'm being... overly paranoid... but it might be a good idea to keep yourself busy this evening. Do you have anyone to spend time with?"
"...Technically, someone was supposed to meet me here," Wright admitted, pushing a hand through his hair. "They... they haven't shown up yet."
"...Do you think they will?" he tried to phrase it delicately, even as that voice in his head screamed, say no say no say no -
A sour look crossed Wright's face. He checked the time on his phone again, and Kristoph could see, peering inconspicuously over Wright's shoulder, no phone calls or message notifications. He could also see, in the top right corner, that his phone was nearly dead.
"I don't know," Wright breathed out a sigh, hunching in on himself. "They're usually pretty busy, so..."
Probably that prosecutor, Kristoph deduced. All of a sudden, he felt incredibly petty. After all - he was the one sitting next to Wright, in his darkest moment. Why shouldn't he simply... pluck him away?
"Well, if you happen to be hungry, I'm going to one of my favourite restaurants for dinner. You could join me, if you like. My treat."
He phrased it as neutrally as possible, wanting it to sound like an afterthought - a suggestion, nothing more. When Wright looked back on this moment, in a day's, week's, month's time, Kristoph didn't want it to sound like his idea. He wanted it to be Wright's choice, and his fault.
Just like before, he watched the emotions play out across Wright's face - surprise, uncertainty, consideration, bitterness. He checked his phone again. Still no new messages. Kristoph imagined what he might be thinking - that he didn't want to face his friends right now anyway, and if they really were friends, they'd be here already. And, if he was going to look so broken and fragile and pathetic, he might as well do it in front of a stranger, who didn't really care, and he probably wouldn't see again anyway.
It was that last one Kristoph took umbrage with.
He would definitely want to see Wright again.
"Fuck it," Wright muttered, drawing out a genuine laugh from Kristoph. A small smile played on Wright's face at the sound, even as he wiped the remaining tears from his face. "Where were you thinking? Tell me they've got grape juice."
"As you like," he smiled politely, standing up and brushing off his suit. "There's this little Italian place near the courthouse, Mr. Wright, that I think-"
"Phoenix," Wright interrupted him, standing beside him. His shirt was rumpled and his tie was coming loose. Not one hour from being disbarred, and he already looked a mess. "If you're paying, you can call me Phoenix."
The invitation caught Kristoph off-guard. He blinked, before allowing a slanting smile to grow across his face. Well. If Wright was going to say that, there was only one way to respond.
"In that case, you must call me Kristoph."