Chapter Text
It took persistent begging, but his parents could find no more chores for Phoenix to do, no more distractions. He was free to go to Miles' house. In addition to his Christmas present, Phoenix's parents gave him a card, and a reusable shopping bag filled with things for Mr. Edgeworth. Phoenix peeked in as he walked, and saw that there was nothing too interesting, beyond their cooking. Tupperware containers were stacked atop each other, contents sloshing around with each of his waddling steps. The food was fresh, warmth came off it in waves, heating his mittened fingers.
He and Larry knew every step and bump in the sidewalk going in the direction of their friend's house. Larry couldn't come out today, so he was on his lonesome. When Phoenix arrived, he knocked on the front door energetically because finally, he was allowed to deliver his friend's present. His parents kept on saying he should wait "just a few more days." Phoenix had only recently mastered the days of the week, so it felt like forever to him. But now that time had come at last.
It took a while for someone to answer the door, which was always the case at the Edgeworth residence. Miles would not stop reading whatever book he found unless the doorbell was rung a minimum of three times. (He was at flute practice right now, but Phoenix's parents would only permit him to go over at this point.) Mr. Edgeworth was usually busy napping, or cooped up in his study doing work stuff.
"He must have been sleeping," Phoenix decided in a matter-of-fact tone when the door opened.
Whenever grownups woke from a nap they squinted, and looked generally displeased with the world. Mr. Edgeworth's hair wasn't slicked back, there was no gel in it. His bangs were scruffy and stuck up, they looked a lot like Miles'. His glasses weren't on, and no self-respecting Edgeworth would wear wrinkled clothes unless they'd just rolled off the couch to see who was at the door.
"Hey Mister Edgeworth!" Phoenix chirped.
Mr. Edgeworth mutely backed up, giving him entry.
"It's really cold out there today!"
Dark-circled eyes swept over the snowpants Phoenix wore, his dripping boots.
"I can tell."
Phoenix started to wrangle with his puffy winter coat, and the strings which kept his mittens tied safely together.
"Could you help me with my laces?" Phoenix asked. "I know how to tie them now, but not undo them."
With a sharp nod, he stooped over to pick apart the salty knots.
"Thank-you!"
He felt incredibly light without all his heavy clothes on. Phoenix was tempted to leap, to see if he could jump any higher now. But he kept his feet mostly grounded, and followed Mr. Edgeworth into the kitchen.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, pulling out a chair for Phoenix.
"I brought Christmas presents," he proudly announced. "My parents kept telling me it was too soon, but today, they finally let me."
"...too soon?"
"That's what they said."
By standing on his tiptoes, Phoenix just managed to get on the chair.
"Would you like a hot drink?"
"Yes please."
Mr. Edgeworth must have noticed how he shivered. It was cold as death, even in the house. Phoenix rubbed his arms a bit, trying to keep them warm. Why hadn't Mr. Edgeworth turned on the heat?
He filled the kettle for two, and switched it on. Then he went to the cupboards, pulling out cups and packets of tea, a small tin of hot chocolate. The fridge was mostly empty, except for the inch of milk he used up in their cups, and the sad end pieces of a bread loaf. There was also a red bell pepper, Miles' mortal arch nemesis, the bane of his school time snacks. They always traded when he got peppers with his lunch, but Phoenix suspected Mr. Edgeworth didn't know.
Adults were funny like that, never spotting the obvious before them. Maybe it was because they were so big. Being tall meant they knew when you were passing notes in class, or trying to sneak your new pet frog (Froggie IV) up to your bedroom, even when their backs were turned. Yet they never seemed to notice what children found important. It must have been a height thing.
"My parents made you some food," Phoenix explained, gesturing to the bag. "There's soup and noodles and fried dough cookies for dessert!"
Phoenix swung his socked feet and gripped the icy sides of the chair, imagining what it would be like if he was big enough for his feet to reach the linoleum floor.
"That was thoughtful of them," he murmured, taking out and inspecting the contents of each container. "Give them my thanks."
"Um, well, they sort of planned it after I told them you couldn't cook," the boy confessed. "Otherwise they would have gotten something cool for you I bet!"
He really had tried to protest. But his parents wouldn't hear any of it. At least his present for Miles was a lot better, and completely worth every bit of his saved allowances.
"No, no…" he airily dismissed. Mr. Edgeworth pulled out the first card, and slid a nail under the seal to open the envelope. "I appreciate it."
The card went with all the others on top of the microwave. It was a veritable forest of baby blue paper and white angels, with the fancy kind of handwriting Phoenix didn't know how to read yet. Bad enough that the words were often huge, adults had to go and invent another form of writing just to make things trickier.
Then there was quiet, except for the wind throwing itself against the windows, and the boiling of water. Phoenix didn't know why, but he was fraught with the desire to smother it in some way.
"I like these flowers," he declared, turning his attention to the bouquet on the table. It was a perfect centerpiece. Shiny, multi-layered petals curled together, making pretty coils of blossoms.
"They're called chrysanthemums."
"That's a big word. Almost as big as the flowers."
He brought over two mugs. One had hot chocolate, the other had a tea bag floating in it.
"Here you are."
"Thanks!"
Having a drink made his wait much more tolerable. Even though it burned his tongue, he took a sip. Phoenix poked the sides of his fingers with the mug, but otherwise couldn't touch the surface, because it was so hot.
Mr. Edgeworth turned back to the counter, gathering himself a bowl and cutlery. The sink was full of unwashed dishes, while the cupboards where they had to be kept were empty. He found what he was looking for and rinsed them off quickly, pale hands not seeming to mind the steaming water.
"Do you want any?"
With a dishtowel, Mr. Edgeworth motioned to the food his parents sent along with him.
"No," Phoenix dutifully shook his head. "It's yours."
A plate and two cookies were set before the boy anyway.
"I apologize, but I don't have much to offer."
"'S'ok."
"What a strange thing to be sorry about," he thought as he nibbled a cookie. "It's probably just some silly adult problem."
The man picked at his food to begin with, pushing it around with his spoon and looking towards him. But after a few bites, he seemed to recall that he was hungry, and scarfed it down. The action was really un-Edgeworth, almost funny because of that. But not the sort of funny where he Larry, and Miles laughed as a result. It was an uncomfortable sensation which squirmed in his chest. It was getting too quiet again, Phoenix shifted restlessly in his seat.
"I wish I could've come at a better time," he began, speaking, just trying to fill the deathly silence. "But my parents wouldn't let me. I explained that Miles has flute practice right now so he wouldn't be here-"
"Pardon me?"
Phoenix realized he was probably talking too fast for Mr. Edgeworth to understand. His parents had been getting on his case about that lately.
"When does Miles get home from rehearsal?"
"...he's not coming back."
Mr. Edgeworth's voice was strangled, like every word fought a bloody fight to be pronounced. It made Phoenix's hairs stand on end, and his scalp prickle.
"I know that he's gone, everyone keeps telling me that whenever I asked to come over."
"Phoenix, my son is-"
He choked, not finishing the sentence. Maybe on his soup? Phoenix tried to pat his back, but he flinched away.
"I think you should leave now."
"But my present!"
"Go home, Phoenix."
Confused but obedient, Phoenix did as he was told. He got back into his heavy winter clothes and fumbled to remember how the bunny ears were supposed to work on his laces. Then he stepped out, the cold instantly stinging his face and making his eyes water. He looked over his shoulder at the freezing day, and then at Mr. Edgeworth. His expression was flat, and he'd never seen anyone's eyes look like that before. They were dark, practically alien. Suddenly the outdoors felt warm and inviting, more so than the gaze pinned on him.
"U-um, I don't know what I did," Phoenix said in a tiny voice, shrinking back from the man. "But I'm sorry."
None too gently, the door was closed. The lock clicked metallically and forebodingly. Then the sobbing began, and he heard things being thrown. A million glass shards spraying everywhere and a voice yelling, "It isn't fair!" over and over even when Phoenix tore himself away and started to run. Above the din, Phoenix knew he'd meant to say something else.
"I'm sorry too."