Chapter Text
“Are you always like this on dates?”
“It’s not a date, Wright.”
Phoenix paused mid-sip, giving Edgeworth a look over his glass of water. “Right, sorry. Are you always like this on totally normal, completely heterosexual dinners between long-time rivals-slash-trauma-bonded friends?”
Edgeworth didn’t dignify that with a response.
They were seated at a small, weirdly cozy place downtown—somewhere Phoenix had picked last-minute after realizing Edgeworth’s idea of dinner probably involved white tablecloths and at least three utensils per hand. Here, there was dim lighting, cracked leather booths, and a menu that had two whole pages of fried things.
Edgeworth hadn’t spoken to the waitress. He had judged the fork silently.
Phoenix didn’t mind. He was too busy pretending he wasn’t sweating bullets across from the man he’d spent the last fifteen years thinking about way too much.
“Is your tie always this crooked,” Edgeworth finally said, not looking up from his menu.
Phoenix smirked. “You noticed. That’s sweet.”
“That’s tragic.”
They ordered. Phoenix went for the fried chicken sandwich. Edgeworth got grilled salmon, which somehow made Phoenix feel judged. Again.
“I still don’t know why you agreed to this,” Phoenix said, stabbing at a fry. “The Edgeworth I remember would’ve ghosted the second I hinted at feelings.”
Edgeworth paused, carefully placing his knife down like it was evidence.
“I tried to ghost you. You’re very difficult to ghost.”
“I take that as a compliment.”
“Of course you do.”
Their eyes met, and Phoenix felt it again—that weird tension, like standing at the edge of a very high dive and knowing the water would hurt but you kind of wanted to jump anyway.
Edgeworth sipped his wine like he was buying time. “I suppose I owed you. After the last trial.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” Phoenix said quietly.
Edgeworth looked at him, the edge softening. “That’s the problem, Wright. You never act like people owe you, and somehow, they always do.”
The silence stretched.
“…You could just say you enjoy spending time with me,” Phoenix offered.
Edgeworth stared at him. “I’d rather cross-examine a clown.”
“That is so specific it hurts.”
Phoenix leaned back, eyes narrowing playfully. “Okay, real talk. Why did you say yes?”
Edgeworth hesitated. His hands folded neatly on the table, like he was preparing to give testimony.
“I don’t know.”
Phoenix blinked.
“I just...” Edgeworth exhaled, looking almost embarrassed. “You have a tendency to be persistent. And… infuriatingly sincere. And I thought—perhaps—if I spent an evening tolerating your presence, I might understand why it’s so hard to stop.”
Phoenix’s heart did something very stupid.
“That was almost a compliment,” he said, voice softening.
Edgeworth’s brow twitched. “It was an observation.”
“Uh-huh.”
The waitress returned with their food. Edgeworth nodded politely. Phoenix thanked her with the kind of friendliness that made Edgeworth’s eye twitch.
They ate in relative silence for a few minutes—Edgeworth cutting his salmon like it had personally wronged him; Phoenix trying not to stare at his hands.
Halfway through the meal, Edgeworth said, “You know, I expected you to be more annoying.”
Phoenix raised an eyebrow. “I’m trying to be respectful of the moment.”
“Don’t. It’s unsettling.”
Phoenix chuckled, dropping his fry back on the plate. “Okay, how’s this: you look very nice tonight, in a brooding, might-be-villain kind of way.”
Edgeworth blinked. “That’s not a compliment.”
“It is when you say it to someone you’re into.”
A beat.
Edgeworth looked at him like he wanted to object—but couldn’t.
“…You’re into me.”
“I thought we’d established that three sarcastic quips ago.”
Edgeworth didn’t answer. Just took another sip of wine. His hand was a little too still on the table.
Phoenix leaned in, voice lower now. “Look, I’m not trying to ambush you here. I just thought… maybe I’m not the only one who keeps sticking around after the verdict.”
Another pause.
Then Edgeworth said, carefully, “You’re not.”
It was barely louder than the clink of silverware, but Phoenix heard it like it echoed across the whole restaurant.
He smiled, all warmth and nervous hope.
Edgeworth looked away, flushed, but not retreating. Not this time.
“…So,” Phoenix said lightly, trying to ease the moment before his heart gave out, “what do we call this, then? If it’s not a date?”
Edgeworth glanced at him, then at his half-empty glass. He looked vaguely betrayed by the fact that Phoenix had made him feel something in public.
After a moment, he replied:
“A tactical misjudgment.”
Phoenix grinned. “You’re such a romantic.”
Edgeworth rolled his eyes. “Just eat your fries.”