In the ensuing scuffle of months, not much had occurred. Miles visited Phoenix nightly - which Miles found rather awkward to escape from unseen in the mornings whenever he fell asleep with the other man -, Kristoph's vivid fantasies of escape never seemed to come to fruition and death warrants were still being issued daily, with the Anti Homosexuality committee making greater strides towards injustice with each passing day. Phoenix had almost forgotten the outside world, too engulfed by his promotion to cleaning all toilets in the palace, and it had probably almost forgotten him too. It was on another one of these nightly visits that something changed, though;

A stormy night in November, and Miles was now well-acquainted with the idea of being supervised by the spectres of Saviour Von Karma, Mozart and Hippocrates, having mastered the art of silently stepping and avoiding any creaking floorboards. The journeys didn't scare him anymore, he ruminated as he approached that same welcoming door. His finger tracing the detailed carvings of the wood for the millionth time, Miles knocked confidently - yet not loudly enough for any neighbouring rooms to be alerted to his presence. His knocks always possessed an inherent subtlety which Phoenix would respond to in kind. This time, however, nothing: just like the first time he'd come. Another knock, more affirmative. Nothing. Again. Had he gone deaf? Miles frowned disappointedly. Perhaps he'd gone to the toilet. Miles decided to wait a while. 

After 5 whole minutes of more nothing, Miles frustratedly pushed the elaborate barrier, letting out a gasp as it actually gaped back at him in shock, stumbling forwards, completely dishevelled and un-Leaderlike, falling into and over his baggy crimson pyjamas. Somehow he'd actually let himself fall to his knees in the kerfuffle, cursing at the door and its betrayal (why was it even unlocked?). He quickly straightened up, absorbing his surroundings: as per usual, the lamp glowed and a silhouette was sat - upright - upon the bed. Upon closer inspection, the trademark spikes weren't present on their person. Miles squinted - he should have commissioned a pair of glasses, he was getting too old for this.
"Hiya, Leader Edgeworth, sir." Speaking of glasses, theirs were glinting. Miles recognised the snide voice from somewhere, and his stomach painfully lurched at the connotations.
"Gavin."
"What brings you here so late?"
"I could ask the same of you." Miles sourly retorted, running shaky fingers through his birds' nest of silvery locks in order to feign the slightest decency.
"Are you gay, Leader Edgeworth?" Kristoph cocked his head, a vile smirk slipping onto his vile lips, and surveyed Miles's response. The visible sweat and estranged gulp was giving the former a sick sense of satisfaction.
"Gavin, what on earth are you wittering on about?"
"I don't want to waste time, Leader Edgeworth."
"Then don't." Miles snapped. Kristoph stood. They were of similar heights.
"I know everything, Leader Edgeworth. You've been visiting Mr Wright every night, haven't you?"
"What are you insinuating?" His voice rose, eyes flaring with indignation.
"I've seen the way you treat him. It would be bad if everyone else knew too, wouldn't it?" Kristoph let out an agonising, jeeringly loud laugh:
"Imagine the rumours that'd spread! Leader Edgeworth is gay for a jobless slob who stripped in a bar for other men?"
"Get to the point." Miles shut his eyes, tightly pinching the bridge of his nose until it reddened.
"Leader Edgeworth, sir, I'm only trying to help. I'm looking out for you."
"I said get to the point. It's quite clear that you aren't here to get me to come out to you."
"Ok." Kristoph sighed, shrugging hyperbolically:
"I guess I won't even bother with presentation, then." Miles irritatedly opened his eyes to glare at the other:
"Where's Wright?"

"Ah." Kristoph's smirk seemed to regurgitate and leave something worse in its wake: a look which reeked of superiority, the higher ground.
"I told him to go take a walk."
"What?"
"You know, outside. Around the landmines."