Spoilers for game two.
Phoenix stood in front of his full-length mirror, a blank gaze being reflected back at him. His fingers itched to reach out to what wasn't there. He felt as if he was looking into his own soul. It wasn't himself he saw there, no. Who was Phoenix Wright? He certainly wasn't anything. He'd spent most of his life the same way, and now it was all over, wasted. Ever since fourth grade, he'd lived chasing shadows of his childhood. Even as he grew into a teenager, into an adult, nothing had changed from that child. Larry was always by his side, nobody else. He still thought of Edgeworth just as much as he had then, and he was lucky the man had even remembered him. One couldn't just expect someone they haven't seen in fifteen or so years to reunite with him, arms wide open, yet he half had. It was all he'd ever wanted.
The truth was, he'd been taken quite bitterly. And just as he thought his old friend was opening up to him, just as he thought he could have a piece of everything he'd ever hoped for, it was over. Never another chance. 'It was just the night before,' he thought sullenly, his eyes burning, 'that I told him how I felt...' Unwanted memories resurfaced in his mind, of the sweet kisses they'd shared, the silken words whispered in his ear, the depths of grey eyes that seemed so sincere at the time. It had all meant absolutely nothing. He was sure the dam couldn't hold much longer now. Another night he'd be hopelessly in sorrow.
"You shouldn't think too hard about it," a smooth voice came from behind him, cold fingers swiping over his cheek. They started to undoe his tie, fingernails gently tickling his bare neck. The past him would be laughing like an idiot at the thought of him calling that voice smooth. Maybe it was just wishful thinking.
"Never, when you're around." He flipped himself around, desperately grabbing lips with his own, needily grasping at the other's hips, so as never to break the sensation.
"You know," she started, pushing the heavily breathing defense attorney onto the bed, "In my day, we didn't bother with all this emotional stuff. We went straight to what we were looking for. We never talked about why. Oh sure, it was really the same thing, the same reasons, but we weren't expected to talk about them. Weren't trying to help eachother. It was better that way." He nodded, having heard this speech many times before. Luckily, it got shorter each time. "You're lucky to have me. Why, anyone would be jealous of you having a catch like me, all you youngins-" This time, he didn't wait, pulling her back onto his lips, feeling her lips turn up at the action. She didn't try to act bashful around him.
And for just a short while, he could imagine that the grey hair he caressing was soft and smelling of lavendar, that the bags under her eyes were from exhaustion, that the one he was holding wasn't the same as him.
And she should pretend, for even a moment, that the sad smirk he wore, the young complexion, the strong, masculine hands were those of the man she truly admired, and not the person he'd lost to.
But when all was said and done, nothing changed. "I'll never forgive him," Phoenix whispered icily, a wrinkled hand clasped in his own, "for what he's done to us."
