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He pulls Edgeworth aside once Diego Armando is declared guilty and the commotion in the lobby dies down. They’ve got a quiet section of the chamber all to themselves, down the hall and around the corner from where Maya and the others are still talking.
A bit awkwardly, they get their courtesies out of the way, as heartfelt as they are: Phoenix tells Edgeworth that didn’t have to do what he did, and Edgeworth insists the opposite; Phoenix tells him he’s not giving himself enough credit; they go back and forth. When they finally come around to it (inevitably, because any path that Phoenix takes with Edgeworth will lead to this, it seems), Phoenix confesses, as he has in his imagination many times: “I just wish you’d swear that you’re not going to leave again. Not this time. People need you here." There's a tremor in his voice, only half-on-purpose, as he adds, "People want you here.”
Edgeworth might have visibly flinched at the comment, if only he weren't a man who'd been trained from an early age never to let the enemy smell his fear. Instead, he fusses with the coat thrown over his arm and glances distractedly at everything in close proximity except for the man standing in front of him. “I’ve got a lease on an apartment in Germany. Binding contract,” he finally replies. “I can’t just move back to the States tomorrow.”
Phoenix crosses his arms. “Edgeworth,” he chides. “You know what I mean.”
"Do I?" The response is strained, but quiet. He still won't meet his gaze. “If we're communicating telepathically now, Wright --" Phoenix chuckles at this; haven't they always? "-- then you should know what I mean.”
Oh, not this secret code talk again. Now they’re even mirroring each other’s posture, hips cocked, arms defensive against their chests. Look at us, Phoenix thinks, we’re both getting so tired. “Promise me,” he repeats.
A sigh. “Alright. I promise I’m not running away.”
“Couldn't you at least try to make me believe you?”
His words surprise both of them. There’s a heavy pause in which Edgeworth decides whether to interpret that statement as a request or a command. It dawns on Phoenix that he’s not even sure what he’d intended it to be when he said it. He swallows hard, bites his lip --
Then in one swift motion, Edgeworth sets his coat and briefcase down -- somewhere; Phoenix doesn’t notice where, because he blinks and suddenly the other man is standing very, very close. He blinks again and Edgeworth has taken Phoenix’s jaw between thumb and forefinger and is looking him straight in the eye. In the back of his mind he wonders briefly why he never noticed that Edgeworth’s eyes aren’t only grey, but also thinly rimmed with blue at the edge of the iris.
If he were made of weaker stuff, Phoenix might have cowered beneath his gaze, mumbled an excuse, put off the confrontation for another day. He knows how his childhood friend operates, though, and so he doesn’t drop eye contact. It feels so much like the way they have to act toward each other in court: composed, measured, tense, walking-on-eggshells. (It’s like a variation on a joke he often heard as a child. How does one try to get close to a Demon Prosecutor? -- Very carefully.)
In another moment he draws them even closer and whispers against the tender stretch of skin where Phoenix’s jawline meets his throat. They’re nearly temple-to-temple except that Phoenix can feel the light brush of eyelashes against his cheekbone and breath hot against his neck, just above the collar. He can’t help but wonder if Edgeworth feels just as faint as he does.
(And to think, Phoenix had honestly believed that he was prepared for this.)
“I am not going to leave you,” is what Edgeworth tells him. He says it very softly, and he waits.
Phoenix thinks, There are so many things I have to tell you, but he knows that the moment is fleeting and there’s not enough time. Instead, he turns his head just-so-slightly, and without a word he brings their lips together, like he ought to have done an eternity ago.
The kiss starts out gentle, unassuming. It means both apology and forgiveness, he knows, and neither should ever be too forceful. But once the tension breaks, Edgeworth is liquid against Phoenix’s mouth, smooth and supple. (When this notion hazily crosses his mind, Phoenix suddenly feels as though he’s had nothing to drink for days.) Edgeworth’s hands are steady on Phoenix’s jaw and the back of his neck, while Phoenix’s rest lightly against the other man’s chest before slipping just under the lapels. Both of their hands begin to wander, and he can feel the tension in Edgeworth’s shoulders, the pounding of his heart beneath the layers of fabric as they both kiss harder.
One broken kiss makes way for another, and then there’s no more than a hint of tongue but oh, hell, there are teeth -- as soon as Phoenix catches and cuts a mark on Edgeworth’s lower lip, the bite earns him something close to a gasp, and immediately he’s being pushed backward until Phoenix’s back meets the wall. Edgeworth is kissing him like he’s starving for it and Phoenix is wrapping his arms around his shoulders, pulling him in tighter; the lengths of their bodies are pressed against each other now and yet Phoenix is still thinking not close enough. Then Edgeworth takes him roughly by the hips and Phoenix moans into his mouth and the intense flash of heat (oh god) is enough to make them both remember with a jolt of alarm that, goddamn, they shouldn’t do this here -- no, they can’t, they really can’t do this here --
When they part, they both pause to collect themselves, relaxing their grips, steadying their breathing. Their foreheads rest against each other for a moment until Edgeworth pulls back to look at Phoenix, eyes dark, lips swollen. His heartbeat is still heavy beneath Phoenix’s palm.
“Was that enough to convince you?” The question is so quiet that it doesn’t even echo down the corridor.
Phoenix half-heartedly laughs. “Of course not.”
Edgeworth sighs. He’s probably been anticipating this answer just like he’d anticipated the kiss. He steps back, and the space that’s left where he’d been standing seconds before feels cold, even though Miles is still so close. Phoenix remains leaning against the wall, massaging his eyes and temples, and his throat feels unfairly tight as he watches Edgeworth gather the belongings he’d haphazardly dropped minutes ago.
“We’re going to have to deal with this sometime, you know,” Phoenix says after a beat, even though they both know the conversation has already ended. “This. Each other.” He weighs the atmosphere for a moment before wryly adding, “Us.”
As to be expected, he doesn’t get an answer. Edgeworth throws his coat over his shoulder and turns his back. There’s nothing more that they know how to say to each other -- at least, not yet, anyway -- and they’re both silently aware of it.
That’s fine, Phoenix thinks, closing his eyes. It’s fine. He listens to Edgeworth’s footsteps fade as they echo down the hall. We can take our time. Just like we always have.
----------
Edgeworth doesn’t answer his cell phone the next day. When Phoenix tries to call his office, the secretary -- he thinks her name is Hannah -- politely informs him that Prosecutor Edgeworth has already departed for an early-morning flight to Germany. Phoenix’s mouth goes dry. Without realizing it, he’s clutching the receiver so tightly that his knuckles have blanched white.
“Unfortunately, Mr. Edgeworth made no promises as to when he’ll be back,” the secretary says, “but would you like to leave a message?”
Oh, yes, Phoenix thinks, yes, I would. I definitely would. But instead, he says nothing except for a murmured “no, that won’t be necessary, thanks,” and hangs up the phone.