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Part of Miles wonders if this is some kind of retribution for all the times he’s been the one who was practically impossible to reach. Another part of him—the most rational one, the one that’s more closely attuned to his own experiences—recognizes it easily as the tell that something is wrong, maybe more so than he’d allowed himself to consider.
It hasn’t been quite impossible to reach Wright just—more difficult than ever before. The lack of communication between them had always been Miles’ doing, never quite so distressing when they both knew they’d still always answer the phone. He finds it less bearable by the minute, how over half of his calls now go unanswered.
Miles found, there was something quite agonizing about the inability to be there for his closest friend, let alone the person he’s been in love with for longer than he cares to remember. There is a certain shame in that realization as well, when he knows he’s been the one to put others in a similar enough position, and multiple times at that.
He would have visited a lot sooner if he’d just listened to what he wanted, but Wright made it abundantly clear that Miles was the last person he wanted to see right now, so he respected his wishes. He knows first-hand that imposing on someone who isn’t in the right headspace can do more harm than good. He knows Maya and Pearls have been visiting regularly, at least, which helped alleviate his worries about Wright isolating himself too much. And of course, there is Trucy.
But now he’s back in town, and it’s been almost two years since he saw Wright last, well over a year since the news of his disbarment reached him in Europe; and he's finally standing outside of Wright’s apartment. He’d let him know in advance when he’d be back, and had gotten an invitation to have dinner with him and Trucy in response.
There’s a small commotion inside when he knocks, high-pitched voice he can’t quite make out followed by some conspicuous crashing noises. Then, the door opens.
“Hi,” Wright says—and there’s a lot to take in, from the beanie he’s wearing to the way his sweatshirt is hanging off his shoulders, but Miles’ gaze catches on his eyes and it’s the only thing he can register.
“Hello, Wright,” he nods, and hands him the gifts he brought: some German chocolates and a deck of playing cards, carefully illustrated with the edge finely lined.
“Oh- you didn’t have to, really, but thanks.” Wright smiles at him as he takes them, and it’s a far cry from the one Miles has come to know, but it’s a smile. “Give me a sec,” he lifts a finger and looks back behind the door. “Truce, is the living room presentable?”
“As good as it’ll get, Daddy!” The reply comes in the same high-pitched tone he’d heard through the door.
“Well then, come on in,” Wright steps aside to let him in. “Trucy darling, d’you wanna come say hi?” he calls out again after Miles hangs up his coat (Wright was about to do it for him before realizing his hands were still full, and Miles allowed himself a chuckle at the confusion on his face).
As good as it’ll get turns out to not be bad at all—sure, there’s some miscellaneous items strewn on the coffee table, shelves filled with more objects and trinkets that they can fit, but Miles figures that comes with living with a child. Besides, his and Wright’s standards of what constitutes a tidy room never were completely aligned.
“Hi!” A small figure runs up from behind the couch, grabbing onto Wright’s legs. “I’m Trucy! You’re Uncle Miles, right?”
He glances at Wright, who just shrugs. “Edgeworth was a little complicated for her. Also, she’s decided that surnames are stupid, lately.”
Trucy nods enthusiastically, and Miles feels his expression soften into a smile. “You’re right, that’s me. It is nice to meet you, Trucy.”
He extends a hand out to her, which she grabs and shakes with a grin. “You too, Uncle Miles! Daddy, can I show my magic to Uncle Miles?” she asks, turning back towards Wright.
“Later, kid, after dinner,” Wright runs a hand through her hair before giving her the card deck. “Here, he brought you a gift.”
The way her face lights up instantly and she fumbles her words trying to thank him too fast brings a warmth to Miles’ chest, and he feels like he can begin to understand the impact she’s had on Wright’s life for this past year.
“Speaking of dinner, I should get on with finishing that. Truce, your show is going to start, you can watch for a bit until we eat. Unless Uncle Miles wants to watch something else?”
“Surely not,” Miles shakes his head. “I wouldn’t dare to interrupt your show, please go ahead.”
“Thanks! Oh, Uncle Miles, do you want to watch with me? It’s good!”
“Maya got her into the Steel Samurai series,” Wright says, and there’s a laugh hiding in the crease of his mouth. “That should be right up your alley.”
Miles glares at him, though he can’t stop his own lips from quirking slightly up. “Alright, Trucy. Lead the way. Let me know if you need any help, Wright.”
“Sure.” Miles doesn’t miss the slight dismissive tone of the reply, but he’s already allowed Trucy to take his sleeve and pull him towards the couch, so he doesn’t insist.
He gets through half of the episode before revealing to her that he enjoys the show as well, and she looks at him like she’s just seen snow for the first time. She talks about Wright too, a lot, and again Miles is sure he can feel his heart swell a little. The episode has just ended when they’re called on to help set the table and Trucy bolts off the couch, leaving Miles the essential task of turning off the TV before making his way to the kitchen.
“Can you grab the plates?” Wright asks when he walks in. “Second cupboard to your left. Thanks!”
There’s something about this, Miles thinks as he watches Trucy carefully carrying three glasses to the table, that anchors a little more the knowledge that in the middle of everything, Wright has built himself a home. And there’s a pride in Miles’ chest at that, that he’s not sure he’s even allowed to feel but that is here nonetheless.
“Sorry this isn’t much,” Wright offers him a small smile once he’s set the dish on the table. “I’m not exactly chef-quality yet.”
“Nonsense,” Miles counters immediately. “I am glad to be here, Wright. That is more than enough.”
“Oh, and I only have water or juice to offer. I don’t like keeping alcohol in the house,” he adds, in a tone that suggests there may be something more here, but Miles doesn’t ask further.
“Water will be perfectly fine, thank you.”
Family meals are not something Miles is used to anymore—the meals shared with his father remain a cherished memory of his, but the von Karma family dinners that followed were never a pleasant time, only ever occasions for more strict rules and disciplines—but it’s ridiculously easy to fall into the rhythm the Wrights have set and include him in.
As it turns out, Trucy seems very curious about his life and work in Europe, asking him endless questions as part of her research for when she tours the world as a star magician. Wright tries to gently get her to let him breathe a little, but Miles just laughs and assures him it’s no problem. And if it feels like Wright’s eyes linger on his expression a little longer than strictly necessary, he figures he must be imagining things. He can’t let his own poorly repressed feelings about the man get mixed up with reality.
“Thanks,” Wright tells him, when Miles has finally convinced him to let him clean up, and they’re both in the kitchen while Trucy is busy setting up for her small performance in the living room. “For indulging Truce. She’s not- it can take her a while to come around with people she doesn’t know.”
“Nonsense,” Miles shakes his head slightly, not without a smile. “I’m her Uncle Miles after all, hardly a stranger.”
Wright laughs at that, the sound filling up Miles’ lungs as much as the room. “I guess Maya and I did a good job at making her feel like she already knew you. And I think she likes that you treat her like a tiny adult.”
He frowns. “Is that not what a child is?”
Wright grins again, patting his shoulder as he walks past. “That’s exactly why she likes you. Come on, we did promise an audience to her performance.”
And what a performance it is—Miles is honestly impressed by the show she puts on and is sure to make it known, congratulating her tricks and show-womanship (That’s not a real word, Wright points out with a smile. She is your daughter, Wright. That will not stop her.).
It’s her bedtime shortly after and she asks him for a hug before she goes, which he is happy to give her. He has always been awkward around physical touch, to put it lightly, but Kay has been a wonderful help at working on it, with how she invited herself in his life. Trucy and her should meet one day, daughter figures both he and Wright welcomed in before really realizing it, probably.
He wonders, watching Wright go put her to bed, if it’s okay to think he wants this, to think he wants a place in this family.
“I won’t impose any longer,” Miles says, standing from the couch when Wright walks in.
“Oh come on, you’re not imposing,” Wright waves the comment off. “Stay a little longer. I even have that tea you like.”
Miles allows himself a smile. “Well if you have tea, I suppose I can’t refuse.”
They chat for a while while getting the tea ready, Wright pouring himself a glass of juice, and the conversation finally comes to a gentle stop.
Wright seems lost in thought for a while, eyes trained on his glass, a distant expression on his face. Miles doesn’t try to break the silence. It’s not an uncomfortable one.
“I was a damn good lawyer, you know,” is what Wright ends up saying, after a couple minutes. You still are, Miles wants to protest, instinctive response to the icy feeling the statement planted in his chest, but he decides to let Wright finish. The man needs to get this off his chest more than anything. “Like, sure I was making it through by a hair half the time, and I really think all the extensive stress should’ve given me grey hair, but. I did my job and I did it well.”
“Of course,” Miles says, and he takes a second to consider his next words. He’s never really been a comforting person, he’s come to learn, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try. “You wouldn’t have made such a name for yourself otherwise.”
He does wonder what brought on this line of thought. Wright had seemed just fine earlier and, if Miles had assumed that at least part of it was a façade for Trucy’s sake, he hadn't expected such a drastic change.
Wright lifts up his glass, looking at the liquid in the light of the kitchen lamp, quiet for another while.
“I loved being an attorney,” he blurts out, like a secret he never meant to share. “I loved law . I wanted to use it to make sure the truth always comes out, and that no innocent would be wrongly convicted.” He pauses. “And look at me now.”
Loved, past tense that breaks Miles’ heart, shatters it into a million glass shards lodging themselves in his lungs. “I think you still do. Love law, I mean. You wouldn’t miss it so much if you hated it.”
Wright scoffs, the sound so hurt and bitter and unlike everything he used to know about the man that Miles can’t quite hide the way he flinches just slightly.
“Sorry,” Wright says, and he closes his eyes. “Man, I wish I were drunk.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Miles says firmly. “And, you know you don’t.”
“I don’t,” he admits. “That’s why I don’t want to keep alcohol in the house. Don’t need that kind of temptation.”
Miles wonders for a moment if putting a hand on Wright’s shoulder like he wants to would be seen as the intended comfort or as pity. He knows Wright’s tendency to overthink the simplest things—a trait they have in common, really—and he’s uncomfortably aware of all the things that could have changed while he was away. He decides to follow his therapist’s advice, for once, and follow what his instincts tell him. Wright tenses up just slightly at the touch, but relaxes almost immediately.
“I’m sorry,” Miles says, his voice coming out quieter than he expected, softer in a way even he can pick up on, “that I wasn’t here.”
Wright shakes his head, leaning forward so he’s leaning over the counter. He makes no move to shake Miles’ hand away, he notes. “I wouldn’t have let you,” he replies, and there’s no bitterness in it this time. He just sounds tired, too tired to even try and put it into words.
“Let’s sit,” Miles suggests, hand sliding from Wright’s shoulder to his elbow.
Again, he doesn’t try to shake off the touch, merely nodding and pushing himself off of the counter.
“You say you wouldn’t have let me,” Miles starts again once they’re both back on the couch. “Even so, I wish I had tried.”
Wright sighs, slipping a hand under his beanie, likely to grab onto his hair. “You know that would’ve been a bad idea. There’s lots of bad press when you get disbarred, it would’ve spilled on you too. No matter how you look at it, it’s just not worth it.”
Miles looks at the remnants of Trucy’s show still left on the table. “You still want to keep me away,” he realizes.
“It’s not that I- I mean, you know. I don’t want people to give you grief because I fucked up royally.”
“You presume I care more about my career than about you.” Wright gives a joyless chuckle at that, confirming his thoughts. Miles frowns. “Let me make one thing clear. You are my closest friend and the most important person in my life, Phoenix. My career can be rebuilt if it ever needs to be, it does not even enter the equation. And don’t,” he adds when Phoenix looks at him like he wants to protest, “don’t pretend you wouldn’t do the same for me. You have taken my side when no-one else would, let me stand by yours now, albeit a bit late.”
Phoenix looks at him for a little longer before he huffs out a laugh and turns away, reaching up to adjust his beanie. “Didn’t remember you having such a way with words, Mr. Prosecutor. But you’re right, I’m sorry. I knew that wasn’t true but I was still worried about it. I just- it’s been a fucking year, y’know? And I’m worried about Truce all the time.”
“For what my opinion is worth, I think you’re doing incredibly well.” He offers Phoenix a smile when he glances at him again. “And Trucy loves you, never doubt that. She talks about you with a lot of pride and gratitude.”
He sees Phoenix blink once, twice, before a hand flies to rub at his eyes. “Shit, sorry,” his chuckle turns into a sniffle. “That one caught me off-guard.”
“You apologize a lot for someone who does nothing wrong,” Miles remarks.
Phoenix’s short laugh sounds lighter here. “Shut up, Edgeworth. I’m having a moment here.”
“I know,” Miles smiles just slightly. “I was merely offering a way out of that moment if you didn’t want to dwell on it.”
“Thanks, man. Really.” Phoenix leans back against the couch, slinging an arm over the back with a sigh. Miles thinks it’s unfortunate how his eyes are mostly hidden. “I missed you. Don’t think I realized how much.”
The pang in Miles’ chest is immediate, compound of feelings he doesn’t want to think about (but that he can’t help but identify, longing and guilt and wishfulness and regret and want , so fierce and brazen he thinks it might devour him entirely) and a few years ago, this is where Miles would run away. But this is now, and frankly he has grown tired of being afraid of his feelings.
“So have I, Phoenix.” He pauses to drink some of his tea. “So have I.”
Silence falls over them again, and it’s not as daunting as he could have thought. He should be leaving soon, but he finds he doesn’t really want to even entertain the idea just yet.
“You are too, you know.” It’s Phoenix breaking the quiet again. “You said I was the most important person in your life, well. You’re mine. Hope you don’t mind sharing the first place with Trucy, though.”
The quiet laugh that escapes Miles’ lips feels just right. “I would not wish it otherwise.” He peers into his cup of tea. “There are people I would like you to meet one day, if you wanted to. Kay and my father’s friend, mainly.”
“Oh, sure. That would be nice. I’m sure Truce would like to meet Kay too, from what you’ve told me about her. As long as they don’t mind me looking like, y’know. I haven’t worn a suit in a while.”
Miles looks at him. “That will never be a problem. You must know that.”
“I know,” Phoenix says, and there’s a softness in his eyes that Miles can’t remember noticing before. Or he just hadn’t let himself notice. “I just- I’m not exactly in my best years.”
“I’m sure we can all find it in ourselves to forgive you for that. After all, you’re not the only one to go through a rough patch of life, I’m afraid we all either already have or will eventually. And if those are not the times we are here for those we love, then when?”
“You know,” Phoenix straightens up. “I distinctly remember you being a lot worse at even acknowledging feelings were something you had. How did you get there well before I did?”
“Believe me, you’re the one who showed me.” Miles smiles again. It seems he’s been doing a lot of that tonight. “Also, therapy helps.”
“Yeah, makes sense. I should look into that too. Anyways!” He turns to face Miles a little better. “Enough about me now. What about you? How long are you here before going back to Germany?”
“I don’t plan on going back,” he says, and the surprise on Phoenix’s face is apparent, followed by something that looks a lot like relief. “Not long-term in any case, I might have to go back for a few weeks on occasions, but that’s it. I want to be here, Phoenix. For you and for Trucy.”
“I’ve liked you since I was nine,” Phoenix blurts out, catching Miles by surprise too much for him to react. “I mean, kinda. On and off until we met again, you know? Anyways, that’s not the point. The point is, things are… complicated and- and I can’t- but you needed to know and now-”
“Phoenix,” Miles interrupts him when it becomes clear he is not going to reach the end of his reasoning anytime soon. “Two things, now. You must know it by now, but I have had feelings for you for years. And my support to you and your daughter is not bound to the kind of relationship that we have. It is unconditional and not something you can lose. I am not asking for anything, Phoenix, only that you allow me to be here.”
Phoenix’s eyes are on him, brown and blue and grey hues impossibly reminiscent of the stormy sea painting Miles had seen and loved in the last museum he went to. “You never ask for things,” he says. “If you did, I would give you all I can.”
“You have already given me more than you had to. But let me ask, then.” He pauses for just a second, useless attempt at calming his nerves. “Will you let me kiss you?”
“Please,” Phoenix breathes.
Miles couldn’t say which of them moves first—it doesn’t matter in the end, not with Phoenix’s hands on his face, not with Phoenix’s arms under his hands, not with Phoenix’s laugh brushing against his lips.
“Fuck, I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he says when he moves away.
Miles thinks he knows exactly what he means. “Never the right time, huh?”
Phoenix grimaces. “Yeah. Seems like we both have a tendency to get tangled in situations that are too complicated to handle. And I don’t even know if this is the right time, with…” He trails off, glancing back to the hallway. Trucy. “Everything going on, but I don’t want to keep waiting.”
Miles doesn’t want to keep waiting either. He doesn’t doubt that they will have a number of things to figure out as they go but, luckily, that seems to be something they’re both pretty good at. They’ve gotten themselves out of infinitely trickier situations. Money will be a needed conversation as well, eventually, but one that gets the time and openness it requires. He is fairly confident that he could get Phoenix to cave in if he presents it as child support for Trucy—which is what it really would be after all. Regardless, it will be for another day.
Phoenix stifles a yawn. “Sorry, I think fatherhood’s turned me into an old man.”
Miles brings a hand up to tuck back a strand of hair that escaped the beanie. He wonders if his hair has gotten longer. “I’ve bothered you for long enough, anyway. I should head back.”
“Mhm, you’re right. Thanks for coming tonight. Y’should invite Kay next time.”
“Next time,” Miles smiles as he stands from the couch, “you’re the ones who will be invited for dinner with Kay and I. You’ll have to tell me when you are both free.”
Phoenix chuckles at that. “I’m sure we can fit that somewhere in our schedule.”
“Perfect,” he nods, and heads for the door, Phoenix following. “Oh, Phoenix. I can give you the number to my therapist’s practice, if you’d like. They’re very helpful. And Kay would be delighted to watch after Trucy for a couple hours if the appointment times happen to be inconvenient.”
“Oh,” Phoenix stops, hand on the doorknob. “Yeah, that would be good I think. Thank you, Miles.”
“Of course.”
Phoenix kisses him again before opening the door. He could get used to this. “Get home safe.”
He can’t quite help how endearing he finds it. “I am a grown man, Phoenix,” he says as he steps out into the hallway. “I should have no problem driving back to my apartment.”
“I know, I know,” Phoenix rolls his eyes. “Don’t start being difficult now. It’s too late for me to retaliate.”
“Later, then,” Miles offers, amused.
“Sure.” Then, softer, with the door starting to close: “Goodnight, Miles.”
“Goodnight, Phoenix.”