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Kristoph saw Wright dead sometimes.
It wasn't much of a problem.
It was only ever for a second, after all, in the moment between blinking and opening his eyes. Whenever Wright was being particularly rude, uncouth or annoying - like spreading his legs wide as he sat down, or dribbling ketchup on that god awful grey sweatshirt of his - Kristoph would see, in his mind's eye, a million different ways for him to die, there and then.
That fork he refused to use - in his throat.
That unstable piece of ceiling in the Borscht Bowl Club basement - collapsing.
Kristoph's own hands, twitching, and Wright's throat turning black and blue -
None of them were actually viable, of course. Kristoph would be caught in a moment if he took matters into his own hands, and such an opportune act of God, however beneficial, was hardly likely. No - the visions were utterly useless, and wholly out of his control, but neither were they a hindrance. They were oddly cathartic, whenever he had to pretend, and laugh, and keep smiling at whatever inane thing Wright was saying. Certainly better than that other direction his thoughts took sometimes...
In the middle of their weekly dinner at the Borscht Bowl Club, Kristoph stifled a grimace, cursing himself for even bringing it up again. It was like a scab he couldn't stop picking at, and the more he tried, the more it itched at the back of his subconscious. Every time Wright moved, he was driven to notice - his fingers, long and lithe, playing absently with the cards on the table - his leg, jiggling up and down leisurely, lines stark against his scruffy grey sweatpants - his mouth, lips and tongue, poking through as he talked -
Grinding his teeth together, Kristoph forced his thoughts to a screeching stop. He really had to stop doing that. Though it physically pained him to do so, he shook off the haze of his daydream, and started listening to what Wright was actually saying.
" - so you know, if you actually started watching The Steel Samurai, we might actually have something to talk about at the end of the week."
Ah, just what he needed. A timely reminder of the man he was talking to.
"Really, Wright?" Kristoph looked at him disparagingly. "I should think you already had enough people to talk to about that show -"
"Yeah, but Edgeworth's in Europe right now."
Break that bottle and jam the glass in his -
"Actually, I was referring to your daughter, Wright," Kristoph said, tone perfectly light. At this point, he was convinced that Wright kept bringing Edgeworth up on purpose, trying to find the best moment to get a reaction out of him. He refused to give him the satisfaction. "Considering she's actually the correct demographic to enjoy that show."
"Hey. Don't knock it 'til you try it," Wright pointed a fry in his direction, before popping it in his mouth. They'd decided to sneak in some fast food today, rather than stomach yet another bowl of borscht. Wright's idea, of course. Kristoph was barely picking at his own plain burger. "And Trucy isn't actually a fan, funnily enough."
"Fancy that," he said wryly, but if Wright picked up on it, he didn't say anything. Instead, they lulled into a strangely companionable silence, with Wright attacking his burger like he hadn't seen food in a month. Once or twice, he even licked his fingers, catching any stray drops of burger grease. He really is disgusting, Kristoph thought, even as he watched each instance with fascination.
Slowly, without his permission, his gaze transformed into a slow traversal of Wright's body, examining each individual part of him with surgical detail. His body language, at least, seemed as relaxed as ever. He wasn't even sitting up straight, instead opting to hunch over his meal like some sort of jackal. Kristoph wasn't sure if he liked it or not. It was good that Wright trusted him (seemed to trust him, anyway) but he'd like to have more of a reaction. As of now, it was almost like Kristoph wasn't even here.
Wright shuffled forward abruptly, moving to grab another ketchup packet, and as he did, his legs stretched even further apart. Kristoph's eyes snapped downwards without permission. He wondered, absently, how Wright would react if he pushed his own legs forward a little, into the gap he'd left open for him - maybe moving to cross his legs, and brushing his foot against the inside of Phoenix's thigh as he did so. How would he react?
Would his eyes widen in shock, before quickly clamping down on the emotion before Kristoph could see it? Or would he be unable to stop himself, and skirt backwards, with Kristoph apologising prettily all the while? The point was, he'd have to react in some way, and Kristoph was so sick of him just sitting there, looking so disgustingly calm -
"Do you need those glasses?"
It took him a moment to realise Wright had spoken. He dragged his gaze back up, embarrassed to see that Wright was looking at him, gaze unwavering. It took him another moment to work out what he'd said.
"I'm sorry - what?"
Something like a flash of victory passed behind Wright's eyes, making Kristoph tense. Putting his elbow on the table, Wright rested his chin in the palm of his hand, still staring, and cocked his head ever so slightly. "Your glasses. Are they prescription? Do you need to wear them?"
"I-" As a matter of fact, Kristoph only really needed glasses for reading, but he enjoyed having the extra layer to hide behind in court. He had more control, he found, when people couldn't see his eyes directly. But what to admit to Wright? "Not all the time, no. But often enough that there's no point in taking them off."
There was a small twitch to Wright's eyes - was that pleasure or disappointment? - before he said casually, "Oh, great. Means I can do this, then."
And he reached forward and plucked the glasses from Kristoph's face.
Kristoph spluttered, feeling the pad of Wright's thumb brushing against his cheekbone. The weight disappearing from the bridge of his nose felt strange and dizzying, as did the abrupt blurriness that set in once the frames had been removed. Why - how dare he -
"Jeez, Gavin, you are pretty blind, aren't you?" he said obnoxiously, placing the glasses on his own face. They barely even fit - Kristoph's face was much thinner than Wright's, and the spectacles, designed to perch just so on the edge of his nose, were barely hanging on to Wright's - and the sight made a flickering rage ignite inside Kristoph. Crack his skull on the floor get your fingers around his jaw -
"You realise it's rude to take someone's glasses without asking, Wright?" Kristoph managed to say with nothing more than a sigh, clucking his tongue like he was speaking to a child. He snapped his fingers and held out his hand. "Come on now, give them back."
"You just said you didn't really need them," was Wright's response, which was absolutely not what Kristoph had said at all. He slid the glasses from his nose, but didn't place them in Kristoph's waiting hand just yet. "Besides, I've never seen you without your glasses before. I was curious."
"That's hardly an excuse," Kristoph scoffed, though a small, irritating part of him perked up, suddenly invested. Wright started spinning his glasses casually between his fingers and he found himself asking sarcastically, "What's the verdict?"
Wright's gaze remained level with his, not even looking as he fiddled with Kristoph's belongings, only just avoiding snapping the plastic in two. The question itself had been rhetorical, but Wright certainly wasn't taking it that way. His eyes probed Kristoph's own with a curiosity that bordered on surgical, and it didn't get any better when a corner of his mouth quirked upwards.
"You've got very pretty eyes, Gavin," he said, so casually it was like it didn't even matter. "Maybe you should look into contacts."
Kristoph's mouth felt very dry. His face remained blank though, unwilling to let Wright gain any ground.
"I'll bear that in mind," he said, just with a twinge of sarcasm, to let Wright know that he wasn't funny, but Kristoph wasn't mad. Not really. "Can I have them back now? Please?"
His hand was still outstretched. Wright huffed out a sigh, muttering something like 'spoilsport' under his breath, and bypassed that entirely. Instead, he pushed his chair back with a screech and walked around the table to stand right in front of him. Still completely casual, as if any of this was any kind of normal, he went to put Kristoph's glasses onto his face for him. Kristoph made to swat him away.
"Really, Wright, I know how to put my own glasses on," he said, the first twinge of annoyance shining through. And I really don't need you to touch me again.
Run his thumb over his bottom lip -
Down his neck -
Into his clavicle -
"Come on, Gavin. Not like I'm gonna poke you in the eye or anything," Wright rolled his eyes, lining up the glasses again. This time, Kristoph gritted his teeth, but did nothing. This was a challenge - another one of the games they got to play. He lifted his face upwards in invitation, eyes lidded and very, determinedly, unimpressed.
Wright really was quite gentle. He leaned forward, bending down until his face was level with Kristoph's, and slid the glasses onto his nose slowly. At first, Kristoph had been bracing himself not to flinch, thinking Wright would take this opportunity to play on his vulnerabilities, his exposed cornea, but instead he found himself fighting the ridiculous urge to close his eyes. It was over in just a few seconds. It felt like forever.
"There. Happy, now?" Wright said sardonically, leaning back up, but still too close, all things considered. Kristoph had to blink slightly as his vision came back into full focus, and the first thing he saw was Wright's body, right in front of him. If he wanted to, he could reach out and touch.
"Your manners are abominable," Is what he said instead. Wright laughed, the heat of his breath hitting Kristoph full in the face for just a moment, before he stood back and went back to his own chair. Clenching his fist tight under the table, Kristoph wanted -
Grab him by the hair -
Put his teeth to his throat -
Kiss him kiss him kiss him -
"Maybe you're just too uptight. Huh, Gavin?" Wright said innocently. His eyes twinkled as he leaned back in his chair, relaxed - and once again, spreading his legs wide.