Edgeworth squinted at the new image of his boyfriend intensely, his eyes only a mere millimetre away from the badly crumpled paper, frowning slightly. Why would someone go to the effort of taking a picture of Phoenix only to print it on such scruffy, ordinary paper? Usually people would get photos professionally printed on silkily smooth, glossy photo paper - or: 'posh paper' as the defence attorney crudely named it - if people even printed photos at all in this day and age. That was true. Why would they print it in the first place? Edgeworth was no technology expert, but he knew that most photos these days were uploaded to social media, or put on some sort of cloud software thingy-majig.

Ok, so maybe Edgeworth had no clue what so called: 'thingy-majig''s real name even was, but that didn't mean he didn't know of its existence.

However, despite this minor confusion, the biggest problem with the image in the prosecutor's mind at this point was the fact that Phoenix had never mentioned it to him. When had it been taken? Where? He stared at it again, raising an eyebrow as he noticed how pixelated it was at this range of sight. Edgeworth wasn't exactly used to low-quality cameras. Of course not. The prosecutor wouldn't dare be caught in public equipped with anything that cost less than at least £300, unable to understand just how Phoenix had managed to live his life having never owned his own camera or smartphone - and even more amazed when the defence attorney rejected Edgeworth's various offers to buy him a phone of a higher pedigree than a Nokia Brick. The prosecutor chuckled at the memory of Phoenix's innocent, wide-eyed face as he selflessly told him that he was 'just dandy' with his meagre mobile phone and that he 'didn't want to waste Edgeworth's money on himself'.
"Hm.." The prosecutor exhaled sorrowfully, the heavy weight of loneliness weighing down on him again, as he tried to scan the area around his boyfriend within the photo for some sort of indication as to where it was taken.
"What's this?" He muttered to himself, instinctively turning around on Phoenix's new, wheeled, office chair to call out;
"Hey, Ukey-" His voice fell silent and he swallowed his words, biting his tongue.

'No, no. Ukey-boy's taking a short 'holiday' at the moment' Edgeworth told himself, gritting his teeth and turning back to the picture.

What he'd previously turned around to show the 'invisible Phoenix' a mere moment ago was a distinctive smear, presumably on the lens of the camera, in the top right hand corner of the picture. Perhaps it was just dust or grime or something. That seemed logical. Once having finished peering at the smear Edgeworth focused, once again, on the background of the image. In all honesty, there wasn't much to look at. A dark, dank grey wall which had bits of rotten old wood as you looked further upwards towards the ceiling. The prosecutor didn't recognise the place at all, and there were no pieces of furniture or ornaments around his boyfriend to distinguish it at all from an old, empty room.

Speaking of his boyfriend, Phoenix appeared to be slumped against the dismally grey, concrete, wall with an odd, vague smile upon his face. His eyes were shut, and his face appeared to have a few darker and redder blotchy patches upon it in random places - however Edgeworth assumed that that was just down to the camera's, clearly, poor quality. After examining the image more closely, the prosecutor noticed that the defence attorney was not wearing his blue suit... Rather, it was strewn upon him - presumably to create the illusion that he was wearing it. How peculiar. There was nothing else of interest within the photo apart from his boyfriend's strange, half-hearted smile. It was as if he wasn't truly smiling, but clearly he physically was. Edgeworth shook his head in confusion and turned the paper over, frowning as he noticed a few messily scrawled numbers on the back of the picture, scribbled in blue-inked biro. The handwriting was only just eligible;

07700900372

Edgeworth frowned. Why was a strange number on the back of an image of his boyfriend? Nothing was making sense. Instead of staring at the photo any longer the prosecutor pocketed the item, feeling physically unable to look at his boyfriend any longer for fear of bursting into a waterfall of tears - and he couldn't bear to cry again. Not after earlier. He had to stay strong for Phoenix, even in his absence, for that was what he'd told himself. The prosecutor then sluggishly rose from the seat and, despite feeling famished, stiffly forced himself into the bedroom they'd made love in the night before, shutting the door softly and feeling a wave of nausea hitting him. This room reeked of Phoenix.

The messy bedcovers they both sprawled upon every day which the defence attorney never bothered to make, the smaller and more private wooden desk which his boyfriend slaved away at on late-working nights when he felt too self-conscious to work alone on his main desk, the various pictures of the two of them together, smiling, placed neatly on the wooden bedside table..... Hell, the place even smelt like Phoenix.

The prosecutor gritted his teeth and stiffly walked over to the bed, hunkering down on it reluctantly. If his boyfriend had been there he'd have injected some sort of sense into the prosecutor - Edgeworth knew. If his boyfriend had been there, the prosecutor would have already been sat down in the lounge, locked in an endearing cuddle or embrace, on the sofa, pulling Phoenix onto his lap and holding him tightly. Phoenix would never have allowed him to skip a meal like this. He'd have been worried sick if he knew.
"Damn it!" Edgeworth suddenly cried out in frustration and longing, anger rising up inside of him as he threw himself up off of the bed and, on impulse, brought out the image of Phoenix from his pocket hastily, staring at it with unwavering eyes.
"Phoenix!" The prosecutor cried out again, raising his eyes from the paper for a moment to scan the room, spinning desperately fast on his heel to no apparent avail.
"PHOENIX!" Edgeworth's eyes scrunched up as he clenched his fists, going red in the face with despair, his breathing slowing down and his puffed out chest falling and rising at a normal pace again.
"Oh, no.." He glanced at the picture again in silence.
"I'm so sorry..." A lone tear formed in his right eye, blurring his vision, and began to dribble down his cheek at a steady pace. His eyes stung and his heart throbbed. He fell back onto the bed with a solemn, stony expression and a pale face.
"I couldn't even keep you safe, could I..?" Edgeworth stroked the paper lightly with the tip of his index finger, a flood of tears beginning to fall upon the page.

The small yellow figurine fell from the ceiling.