Chapter Text
“OBJECTION!”
Miles Edgeworth’s hands slammed on the table, and his voice was ringing through the courtroom. By this point, the prosecutor was nearly losing his composure. He started to argue, and found the lawyer opposite him interrupting him yet again. He found himself wishing Phoenix Wright was up here to better assist him. The defense attorney was seated in the crowd, his consultant on the case, but not officially signed up for it through the system. He loved working in Europe, he did, but sometimes he thought the paperwork was worse.
“HOLD IT!”
He slammed his hands on the table again, vaguely aware that they were stinging. Before he could get another word out, the judge interrupted them.
“Clearly, you two cannot come to a decision,” He said, “You both have good points. The trial will be suspended for another day. I expect both the Prosecution and the Defense to gather more, undeniable, evidence. Tomorrow marks the third day, and will be the end of the trial. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal, Your Honour,” Edgeworth said, voice like clockwork. He took a deep breath, and realized only then that he had been panting a bit. He closed his mouth, waiting for the judge to call today’s trial to an end. He heard the gavel, grabbed his things, and left to the lobby.
“Edgeworth!”
“What is it?” Edgeworth asked immediately, turning on his heel, “Did I miss something? Did you see a loophole? I-”
“Slow down,” Wright said quickly. He took Edgeworth’s bag, which the other attorney found confusing, and then he took Edgeworth’s- hands.
The prosecutor's face was heating up. “What are you doing?” Edgeworth muttered, body going rigid. Sure, the two were friends, but nothing more. Clearly, holding hands like this was wrong, a very bad idea, and something they should not be doing-
“Take a deep breath.”
“Wright, what is the purpose of-”
“Breathe out.” Edgeworth nearly winced at the more stern tone from his friend. Apparently, the man’s “father voice” was coming along nicely. Edgeworth did as told, letting out his air. “Breathe in.” He did so, and then let it go again, much more slowly.
“Satisfied?” Edgeworth murmured, the word coming out at his normal pace instead of rushed.
“No,” Wright sighed, “Look at your hands, Miles.”
Edgeworth felt multiple emotions push through his chest. One was a buzzing, because Wright had used his first name, and the other was a fear. He looked down, and turned over his hands, palms up. Ah. They were bright red. “Well, that’s a problem,” Edgeworth mumbled blankly, “An inconvenient one.”
“They’re your hands, ” Wright clarified, “That’s not inconvenient. That’s something that needs to be taken care of.”
“Nothing needs to be taken care of,” Edgeworth grumbled, (reluctantly) pulling his hands away from the defense attorney’s. “I have work to do, and a case to solve. I can’t risk that man getting away and more kids being kidnapped.”
“And how are you supposed to gather evidence and point at things when you can barely move your hands?” Wright asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I can move my hands just fine,” Edgeworth grumbled. He stole his briefcase back from the other man, ignoring how his hands stung again in protest with the pressure.
“I am literally going to wrap your hands in tape,” Wright sighed, following after him.
"Good luck with that," Edgeworth said sarcastically.
-
The next day, Edgeworth had gone to court once again. He needed to convict this guy- he couldn't let anyone else get kidnapped. Or worse, hurt.
Wright was in the crowd, as the day before. Edgeworth had continued to speak with a strong voice, and had absolutely ignored Wright's words from yesterday about his hands.
In retrospect, maybe that was a bad idea.
By the end of the trial, Edgeworth had won. But, as he peered down at his hands, at what cost? Of course, trading some bruised (was that blood? Did he get a paper cut?) hands for making sure the guilty was punished wasn't a necessarily bad exchange. As he walked out, he kept one hand on the briefcase (which, hurt, a lot) and one hand pressed against his arm. Hopefully, he could escape without bumping into-
"Edgeworth!"
… It was worth a try.
Edgeworth reluctantly turned to face his lawyering partner again, ignoring the pain in his left hand from the weight of the case. Again. "P- Wright," Edgeworth quickly corrected, "What is it? I need to get back to the apartment and gather some things. I'll meet you… um… at-"
"Let me see." Wright was deadpanned, and Edgeworth knew he was screwed.
"I don't know what you're talking about-"
Wright once again interrupted him by putting a hand over his own- the one on the briefcase. Edgeworth tugged himself away quickly, and he could almost feel the locks on him that he knew Wright could see.
"I'm fine," Edgeworth said quietly.
"... Back to the apartment?" Wright asked, redirecting his attention, "Alright. Let's go."
Edgeworth blinked at the sudden turn of events, but he wasn't about to argue, walking with Phoe- Wright out of the courthouse. Second time.
The walk home was quiet. Miles was living in an apartment in Germany, as the Von Karma household brought about too many memories- not to mention he never stayed in one place for more than a few months at a time. He made sure to have a guest room this time, knowing that Wright would be coming over. After the first two times of Wright having to sleep on the couch (or when they shared a bed that really cold night), he didn't want to have any further encounter of Wright not in his own bed. Thus, as they arrived at their shared home, Miles felt even more anxious about what was to occur.
They walked in, and climbed up the two flights of stairs quietly. Wright didn't dare complain any time they'd taken the stairs instead of the elevator, and Edgeworth was thankful.
He opened the door to his apartment, turning on the light and walking inside. He went to put the briefcase down, a small hiss leaving him. Wright disappeared down the hall, and Edgeworth finally looked at what had happened to the hand pressed to his sleeve… ah. Now his jacket was stained with blood. What did I even cut myself on…? Upon closer inspection, he realized that his skin had simply hardened from being irritated, and cracked along one of the palm lines. "Great," He muttered sarcastically. He went to sit on the couch, staring at the palms of his hands. Red, and while his right hand was bleeding, his left hand looked like it'd break any second as well.
He felt a weight next to him, and immediately moved to hide his hands again. It was too late, but he could be stubborn about it. "Edge…" Wright took a deep breath. "Miles. Let me see," He said softly. Edgeworth's face heat up.
"I don't remember giving you permission to use my first name," Edgeworth muttered, deflecting as he did.
"I will literally tackle you if you don't give me your hands."
Miles had never complied faster.
Wright winced as he saw the damage. First, he took out some cream, putting a small amount on each hand. "Are you gonna make me massage your hands for you, too?" He asked teasingly.
"N-No," Miles grumbled, rubbing his hands together. He hissed at the sting, fighting down the urge to swear.
"Thank you," Wright murmured, relieved he didn't actually have to hold Edgeworth's hands this time.
"I can't believe you're babying me," Edgeworth muttered. He finished rubbing in the cream, and saw Phoenix already holding the bandages. "Now you're gonna wrap me up, Phoenix? How am I supposed to write or type?"
Wright was taken aback. Edgeworth craved death. "You used my first name," Wright murmured.
"You started it," Edgeworth pointed out. He quickly tried to backtrack, "If it bothers you, I won't-"
"It doesn't bother me," Wright… Phoenix said quickly, "Just caught me off guard.”
“Hm.”
An awkward silence followed, and Miles regretted saying anything at all. Finally, after a solid 30 seconds of awkward staring, Phoenix grabbed Miles’ hands again, starting to wrap them up.
“How is it that I do this all the time, and now is when my hands decide to be injured as a result?” Miles huffed, his glare almost accusatory towards his hands. (Phoenix thought it was adorable, but he’d never say so out loud.)
“It’s cold outside,” Phoenix pointed out, “And you refuse to wear gloves. Maybe the cold, in combination with the slamming, just wasn’t good for you?” Miles made another ‘hmph’ noise, pulling one hand back when Phoenix had finished wrapping it. Well… At least he could still wiggle his fingers a little bit. Instead of the mitten Miles was expecting, his palm and each individual finger had been wrapped. This was fine by him. “You can’t just “hmph” at everything I say, you know.”
“Hmph,” Miles answered, a smile growing on his lips.
Phoenix sighed, finishing wrapping the second hand, “Why don’t you wear gloves?” He asked again.
Miles had to stop and think about that one. “I… I think it’s primarily because…” He turned his head, looking at the coffee table, “It never really occurred to me? Even as a child, I tried to stay inside during the winters.”
“And during the rest of the year?” Phoenix snickered.
“I’d work under the tree in our backyard,” Miles murmured. Phoenix wasn’t expecting that kind of response, and Miles rolled his eyes at the surprise he saw. “Dear Phoenix, you really think I wouldn’t enjoy the fresh air? With the parent I had growing up?” It was his turn to raise the eyebrow. Was Phoenix’s face red…? Surely he was imagining it.
“W-Well… Fair point, I guess,” Phoenix muttered. Yeah. He was definitely red.
“Are you feeling well?” Miles asked, looking over Phoenix’s face again.
“Fine. Fantastic. Um.” Phoenix let out a breath, starting to pick everything up, “Just- please, take care of yourself, Miles.”
Miles felt his own face heat up. “I guess the first-name basis is sticking,” He murmured, both amused and terrified.
“Uh…”
“I will try to,” Miles decided, standing up, “But I make no promises, Phoenix.” And with that he turned and went to the kitchen, unaware that he’d left Phoenix a stuttering mess.