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The guard stood at the entrance of the detention center, his face set in a stern expression. He looked at the person being held there and said in a tone that brooked no argument, "You have fifteen minutes.”
“...Right.” The defense attorney nodded, taking a deep breath.
It had been months since Godot was imprisoned, and each day served as a constant reminder of his absence. The detention center had become a place of routine—visiting times, signing in, sitting at the table, waiting for the familiar voice over the phone.
Phoenix was seated in a small, cramped room, the phone receiver held to his ear. On the other end, he heard Godot’s voice—his lover’s voice—his words tinged with a sense of resignation.
"Hey, Trite. Good to hear from you."
Phoenix smiled weakly, his weariness evident in the way his shoulders slumped. "Hey, babe. It’s been a while. How are you holding up?"
"I’m managing." Godot’s response was brief, but his tone softened when he heard the affectionate nickname. "It’s not exactly a vacation in here, y’know."
"I can imagine," Phoenix replied, his fingers drumming lightly on the tabletop. There was a moment of comfortable silence before Phoenix spoke up again. "I’ve been thinking about you a lot—"
"Yeah?"
"Oh, shut up, you." He chuckled. "And..."
Phoenix seemed a little reluctant to say it, his cheeks tinted slightly pink. He held up the bouquet and showed them to Godot.
"And… I brought you these."
Godot’s voice seemed to catch on the other end of the line.
"Flowers..? You brought flowers to a prison?"
"Yeah," Phoenix affirmed, the corners of his mouth tugging into a small, bittersweet smile. "I thought you could use a little touch of color in there. Must be pretty bleak."
Godot tried to play it cool, but the sincerity in Phoenix’s gesture was almost more than he could handle.
"It’s just some flowers, Wright... Don’t make a big deal out of it." His voice betrayed his true feelings, though—a hint of gratitude and affection bleeding through the lines.
Phoenix feigned surprise, raising an eyebrow at the sound of his last name. "Oh, we’re back to ‘Wright’ now, huh? What happened to ‘Tsk tsk tsk, Trite?’"
"Can’t have you getting too comfortable, now can I?"
Godot chuckled softly—a rare sound in the bleak atmosphere of the detention center.
"Oh, right. Gotta keep me on my toes, even from behind bars, eh?"
"Someone’s gotta keep you in check, especially since I can’t be there to do it in person."
He turned his gaze to his fists on the table beneath him, rather than looking past the cheap plastic barrier. His tone turned slightly serious as he added, "Although I’d give just about anything to be able to."
Phoenix’s smirk faltered for a brief moment, replaced by a quiet understanding.
"Me too," he admitted softly. "I miss you, y’know? It’s been... really tough without you."
His words were simple, yet they held a weight that spoke volumes about the emptiness that had settled in his life since Godot’s arrest.
"Yeah..." Godot’s reply was a heavy sigh. "I miss you too, babe."
The term of endearment fell from his lips effortlessly, a testament to the bond they shared. Phoenix’s heart ached at the sound of it, a mixture of sadness and comfort coursing through him.
"We’re going to get through this, right?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "We’ll get you out of there eventually, and then we’ll be together again like we’re supposed to be."
Godot’s response was immediate, the absolute conviction in his tone. "Of course we will. We’ve been through too much together for it to end like this."
He paused before adding, "Besides, I made a promise, didn’t I? I’m going to get out of here and take you to a coffee shop with the best damn beans in the country."
A small laugh escaped Phoenix’s lips, the mental image of the two of them sharing a cup of coffee in a cozy café bringing up pleasant memories.
"You sure did, and I’m holding you to it."
Phoenix stared at the man in front of him, his eyes filled with a mix of comfort and melancholy. His gaze searched Godot’s face, taking in every detail and storing it away, as if trying to commit every line and shape to memory. The weight of their situation was palpable in the air, the reality of the prison cell and the distance separating them too painful to ignore.
Godot returned Phoenix’s gaze, each beat of silence speaking volumes. Despite the mask covering his eyes, there was an unguarded vulnerability in his expression. He reached out, his hand hovering above the barrier that separated them, fingertips barely brushing against the glass.
Phoenix mirrored the gesture, his own hand coming up to press against the cold glass, as if trying to close the gap between them through sheer will alone. He could almost imagine the familiar touch of Godot’s skin against his, the warmth of his presence that was sorely missed.
Phoenix’s body leaned into the glass divider, his voice dropping to a soft, intimate tone as he looked at Godot. "I love you," he repeated, the words filled with every ounce of emotion he felt. His eyes never left Godot’s face, as if he was trying to convey through his gaze all the things he wanted to say but couldn’t find the words for.
Godot’s mask did nothing to hide the myriad of emotions passing over his features as he watched Phoenix. For a moment, his stoic facade cracked, the corners of his mouth tugging into a small, bittersweet smile. He mirrored Phoenix’s action, leaning in as well, his palm still pressed flat against the glass, mere inches away from Phoenix’s. "I know, Trite," he murmured, his eyes never leaving Phoenix’s face.
"I know."