Work Text:
Phoenix worries a lot.
He didn’t used to worry, at least not like this. When he was younger, the strategy used to be just push and push and push until everything worked out the way it was supposed to. It worked well, for a while—got him through undergrad and through law school and through his first couple years as an attorney—until it didn’t anymore. Until—well.
He worries about Trucy, mainly, about how she’s doing in school and how she’s feeling and how much he’s fucking up, and if the ways in which he’s fucking up are forgivable or if they’re going to seriously mess with her down the line.
He worries about Kristoph, and whatever the hell he’s up to at any given point. He worries about his shifts at the Borscht Bowl and if he can really work in a piano bar for the rest of his life. He worries about who the hell he’s supposed to be if he can’t be a lawyer anymore, even though he’s pretty close to having not been a lawyer for just as long as he ever was one.
He worries about Miles Edgeworth. God , does he worry about Edgeworth a lot.
It’s impossible not to. The man is stubborn and relentless and thinks he’s immune to burnout despite all evidence to the contrary, and he won’t listen to Phoenix when he tells him all this, because Phoenix is just as bad and they both know it. Unlike Phoenix, however, Edgeworth has the weight of international responsibility pressing in around him at all times.
It’s just exhausting sometimes, Phoenix, Edgeworth had said to him on the phone late the other night. And it’s fulfilling work, but–Christ. Interpol is involved now, and the university is pressing me to involve my students since it’s likely going to be such a monumental result no matter which way it goes and I–this case is just weighing on me a bit more than usual.
Phoenix wishes that he could do better for him. He can offer his support over the phone (and he does, as much as Edgeworth lets him), but it never feels like enough. Phoenix wants to show up at his apartment with a bottle of wine and some cheap takeout that Edgeworth would be too proud to buy himself and sit next to him on the couch and make fun of whatever Steel Samurai reboot or spinoff he’s immersed himself in until Edgeworth is too distracted with deconstructing his entirely improvised analysis of a movie he’s never seen before to be stressed anymore.
He also wants to move closer to him on the couch, to look at him until Edgeworth notices him looking and blushes the way he always does when Phoenix stares, maybe run his hands through Edgeworth’s hair and brush his bangs out of his face, but that’s something he is entirely unprepared to begin unpacking, because he already knows what the end result of him unpacking it would be, and what he’s going to want to do after that just isn’t possible or realistic.
Not that any of it’s possible; Edgeworth is across the ocean and entirely too busy for Phoenix most of the time, so Phoenix is left alone to his worrying while he waits for Trucy to get home, most days.
Today, though, Phoenix wakes up at 6 am, head filled with familiar and unfamiliar worries, and instead of just waiting around until he feels less like his chest is going to cave in if he doesn’t talk to someone else right this second, he picks up his phone and calls Edgeworth. Edgeworth, predictable as ever, picks up on the second ring.
“Wright,” he says. “It’s early for you; is everything alright?”
“Does something have to be wrong for me to call my oldest friend?”
Edgeworth scoffs, but it’s more playful antagonism than true disdain, and Phoenix feels the corners of his lips twitch up. “Larry’s your oldest friend. And, historically, yes.”
“Well, I’m fine. Just wanted to check on you.”
“Oh,” Edgeworth says, and his tone is soft, like Phoenix has said something he wasn’t prepared for. “What for?”
“You had your big conference today, right? How’d it go?”
Edgeworth is silent for a moment, and Phoenix wishes as he often does that he could see the other man’s face. It sure would make it easier to assess whether whatever mental calculus he’s doing right now is because he’s trying to figure out a way to get Phoenix off the phone or if he was just unprepared to hear from him and is taking his time responding. He hopes that it’s the latter.
“It was alright,” he says. “A bit boring, though I feel like that’s to be expected. Although, truthfully, I am about to be dragged into another panel, so I cannot talk for long.”
“Oh, sorry, I–”
“No, no,” Edgeworth says quickly. “No need to apologize. I’m glad to hear from you, Wright. I regret that I cannot speak for longer.”
“Maybe I can call you tomorrow, then?” Phoenix says, before he can think the better of it. In the silence that follows Phoenix tries not to chastise himself for pushing too hard, for asking too much, and tries instead to just wait and see what the other man says. He’s never been good about avoiding jumping to conclusions, though.
“Yes,” Edgeworth says after a moment. “Yes, I would like that very much.”
“Oh,” Phoenix says. “Ok. Yeah, ok, I’ll talk to you tomorrow, then.”
8:03 am
Edgeworth: Are you still free for a call later this evening?
Edgeworth: Or, rather, later this morning for you I suppose.
yes! looking forward to it
just woke up, gotta get trucy to school then ill call
Edgeworth: Alright, no rush.
9:27 am
hey sorry
im starving and something came up at the office
not sure i have time to eat and call anymore :(
Edgeworth: Would you like to eat together?
huh?
Edgeworth: I’m about to sit down for dinner, myself.
Edgeworth: We can eat together if you’d like.
oh
yeah sure
sounds nice :)
Edgeworth: Wonderful. :/
Edgeworth: wait
Edgeworth: wrong one
Edgeworth: i meant to make the smiling emoticon
Edgeworth: :)
Edgeworth: My apologies. I am looking forward to dining with you.
haha no worries i knew what u meant
maybe :/ is more accurate to your whole thing though
Edgeworth: My whole “thing?”
Edgeworth: :/
It’s 3 am in Berlin, and Miles Edgeworth cannot sleep.
If it was for the usual reasons, the nightmares or the caseload or too much coffee during the day to stave off his ever-growing irritability, that would be different. He would take an Ambien, and put on a white noise app, and let himself slip into an unsatisfying, overactive sleep, but a sleep all the same. He would wake the next morning still tired and a little stiff, but he would have slept through the night, which was usually enough.
But tonight, the sheets are too rough against his skin, and the heater is just a bit too loud and a bit too potent, and his head pounds each time he shifts against the pillows, seeking comfort from the sinus headache that sprung up too late in the evening to medicate. The buzz of his phone, flickering on the bedside table, only exacerbates the pain, but he groans and sits up in bed to reach for it; at this point his groggy, half-conscious brain will only catastrophize, and he might as well look at the text while he’s awake anyway.
He fumbles for his glasses on the side table and puts them on, but his face is a little sweaty, and they slip down his nose before his eyes even have a chance to adjust to them. He winces at the flash of blue light in his eyes, at the rush of blood out of his head as he sits upright, but as the tension drains from his skull enough to let his eyes focus, he sees the text is from Phoenix, and he can’t help but smile.
He opens the message to a photo—Trucy, standing underneath an ostentatious, flashing marquee, her arms extended over her head and a blinding, toothy grin on her face. She looks just like her father, somehow.
The message underneath from Phoenix reads, first night at the new place! and the pounding in Edgeworth’s head fades to the background to make room for what blooms inside his chest at the sight of Trucy’s name up in lights on the marquee.
A moment later, Phoenix’s contact photo is flashing on the screen, and Edgeworth has hit the answer button before he can even really consider doing otherwise.
“Sorry!” Phoenix’s voice rings through the phone, bright but muffled by what Edgeworth assumes is the traffic passing by outside the theater. “Sorry, butt dial! Didn’t mean to wake you!”
“It’s alright, you didn’t wake me,” Edgeworth says, hoping the drowsiness in his voice isn’t too obvious. “Please give Trucy my congratulations.”
“Truce!” Phoenix calls, his voice a little distant as he pulls the receiver away from his mouth. “Edgeworth says congrats!”
Phoenix is silent for a moment, and Edgeworth hears Trucy’s voice in the background, but he can’t make out any of the words. “She says thanks,” he says a moment later, and Edgeworth can hear the pride in his voice, wrapping around every syllable. “She’s real excited. Lots more seats and fancy tech stuff for her to mess around with at this theater.”
Phoenix laughs, in response to nothing but his own excitement, and for once Edgeworth is grateful that he can’t see the other man’s face so that he feels no shame about failing to suppress the grin growing on his own.
“What’re you—yeah, go on kiddo, I’ll be there in a sec—what’re you still doing up, though?” he asks, and Edgeworth waits for a moment while Phoenix does the math in his head. “It’s gotta be, what, 3 am there? You ok, Edgeworth?”
“Just a late night with work,” he lies. Phoenix will worry, will fuss over him if he tells him about the headache or the nausea or the various prescriptions he has yet to refill, but he’s never been able to hide from Phoenix, not really, and the noncommittal hum he receives in response tells him he’s doing a poor job of hiding from him now, too.
But Phoenix doesn’t press him, and he’s thankful, not just for the gesture, but for him. For both of them. Los Angeles hasn’t been his home in a long time, but Phoenix—well. If anything could persuade him to return it would be him , and Edgeworth adds the fact that Phoenix hasn’t ever asked him to come back to the list of things he’s thankful for, because he’s not sure he’d be able to refuse him if he did.
It would be nice, though. For a bit at least, to be at his side. He could have attended Trucy’s first show at the new theater, could have hugged her and told her he was proud of her, let her see that he meant it more than just a polite nicety to a friend’s daughter. He could have sat next to Phoenix as the show started, felt the visceral joy radiating off of him in person, could have let it consume him, too, and as the lights went down he could have let the back of his hand brush up against Phoenix’s. It would be fleeting—even in his fantasies, Edgeworth is still a coward—but his skin would feel electrified, and maybe Phoenix would be braver than he was. Maybe Phoenix would grab his hand in the dark, and their fingers would intertwine, and maybe Edgeworth would be brave enough to keep holding on when the lights came back up. Maybe—
“We miss you, yknow,” Phoenix says, and his voice is uncharacteristically meek, like he’s half-hoping Edgeworth didn’t hear it. “I miss you.”
I love you is what Edgeworth wants to say, what he feels resting just behind his lips, ready to slip out unbidden if Edgeworth lets his guard down for even a moment. But his guard is always up, even at 3 am, so what comes out instead is “I miss you, too.” Still a confession, slipping through the weakening barriers of his exhausted brain, but not the confession. Not the whole truth.
As if he can really hide the truth from Phoenix. As if he doesn’t already know.
He considers saying it to the darkened screen of the phone—after he and Phoenix exchange excuses and awkward goodbyes—now that no one is around to hear it anymore but him. It’s real if he says it out loud, and Edgeworth is weak, in this moment, fresh off the high of hearing Phoenix’s voice and laugh and his rare genuine happiness, and he could give in now, and set everything in motion. It would be irreversible, even just speaking it to himself, but maybe a moment of weakness is what he needs.
But he considers the sinus headache, and the way he certainly isn’t awake enough to fend off tears, and instead of letting it escape into the darkness of the hotel room, he swallows it back down, places his phone face down on the bedside table, and tries to convince himself to fall asleep.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Order Confirmed!
-
Hello MILES EDGEWORTH!
Thank you for placing an order with Los Angeles Flowers and Gifts! Your order has been confirmed and will be delivered on the day you selected. Please find the details of your order down below, and do not hesitate to contact us with any questions at [email protected] .
ORDER: Large Bouquet, Custom
FLOWER CHOICES (SELECT UP TO FIVE): Amaryllis (Pink), Goldenrod, Sunflower, Fern
PICK UP OR DELIVERY: Delivery
MESSAGE (OPTIONAL): Congratulations, Trucy!
ORDER TOTAL: $63.99
ADDITIONAL DETAILS: If there is any trouble with international payment methods, please reach out to me directly and I will rectify the issue. Thank you. -M.E.
Phoenix doesn’t think he used to be this lonely. If he was, he doesn’t remember it very well, at least.
It’s selfish, to feel lonely with a daughter, but it’s how he feels more and more. He used to have people–always around him, always there. He used to have things to do and goals and dreams and he used to be hopeful. He was naive, and stupid, and way too optimistic about the ability of the justice system to always uncover the truth, but he was happier, probably. He thinks he was happier.
Trucy makes him happy. Trucy makes him so happy that it hurts, which makes him feel like even more of a selfish asshole for not being happy overall. He knows he needs to be better about reaching out to Maya, and he knows that it’s not really about having people , plural, but more about one specific person. But it’s easier to just sit in the dark in his bedroom until Trucy gets home from school and he can pretend like everything is ok for a couple hours while they make dinner and laugh and talk about her day before he has to repeat the whole cycle all over again than it is to confront any of… that .
He does need to try though, for Trucy, if not for himself, so he decides to call Maya and ask her to come visit for the weekend to see Trucy’s show. If Maya is around, he won’t be alone, and he won’t have time to think his thoughts, and he can get better at pretending. And if he pretends for long enough, it’ll stop being fake, eventually.
He only gets about 2 minutes into the call before he gets a text from Edgeworth–a picture of Pess playing with another dog at the park whose fur does look suspiciously like Phoenix’s hair when it’s styled, with the caption, “Made me think of you,”–and starts ugly-sobbing into the phone, but the end result is the same, as Maya books a train for that afternoon and is in Phoenix’s apartment with Pearls before Trucy gets back home from school.
She pours cold water down his throat and makes him shower and confiscates his phone and insists they all go out to get ice cream, and Phoenix isn’t feeling better, exactly, but he’s feeling more normal, which is something.
Once Trucy gets home, Maya loads them all onto the bus and steals Phoenix’s credit card to buy him 2 scoops of butter pecan with hot fudge drizzle and sits him down on the curb outside the store, and Phoenix loves her so much.
“Are you gonna say anything to him?” Maya says in between careful spoonfuls of her ice cream, letting her knee tip against his. “You should tell him.”
“ Fuck , Maya,” Phoenix says. “I can’t. God, I want to, but I just–I can’t.”
Maya scoots closer and leans in so her body is blocking his face a little bit, at least from the direction of the playground that Trucy and Pearls ran off to, and that one little thing threatens to make him lose it entirely.
“Why not?” she asks. “Do you think he’d be mad or something?”
“No, but–what’s the point?” Phoenix ducks his head into his hands. “I know how he feels, I just–It’s not like we can actually do anything about it. It’s not like it matters because he’s 13 hours and a couple thousand dollars away and he’s not coming back. So what’s the point?”
“Nick, you can’t just keep going like this.”
“I know,” he says, and his voice is rougher than he means it to be, angrier, but Maya doesn’t pull away. “But what the hell else can I do?”
4:52 am
Edgeworth: If you have time, can I call you later today?
8:36 am
yeah i have time, you ok?
Edgeworth: Yes, I’m alright.
Edgeworth: I just have something I’d rather discuss with you face-to-face.
ok
ill be free after noon, 9pm your time i think?
Edgeworth: Yes, that sounds good. I will see you then.
Edgeworth’s hands are shaking as he unlocks the front door of his apartment.
Work had been relatively normal today, despite the long hours, and traffic had been minimal on the drive home, so all things considered, Edgeworth should be feeling relatively relaxed.
But he knows what’s coming. He knows that Phoenix is waiting for him on the other side of a video call, on the other side of the ocean, and that it’s been much too late for much too long to pretend like they both don’t know what this is about, and so his hands shake.
He can’t wait long enough to properly change and eat dinner and do all of the normal routine things he always does that have never seemed so unimportant, so as soon as the door is locked behind him he pulls out his laptop and calls Phoenix.
“Hey,” Phoenix says, and God, he’s beautiful. The video call doesn’t do him any favors, but even so, Edgeworth feels like he just wants to stare at him until the image of him, tired and bleary-eyed and a little nervous but so undeniably beautiful in the early afternoon light, is burned into his memory. “Everything good? I know you said it was all ok over text but–”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Edgeworth says. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you.”
Edgeworth watches Phoenix swallow thickly through the video. “Ok. Ok, yeah. What did you, uh, what did you want to talk about, then?”
He considers backing out. He could pretend like he had some new research for the MASON system, or that he wanted to ask about what to get Trucy for her birthday, or that he had a stressful day at work and wanted someone to complain to. He could say any of the usual coded things they say to each other with more and more frequency each day, to tell each other the truth without really saying it. I miss you, I’ve been thinking of you, I hope you’re ok, how can I help, please take care of yourself .
He could say any of that, but he’s not going to. He’s going to tell him the truth, the real truth, and the last moment to change his mind has already passed. He’s in free-fall now, they both are, and there’s nothing to do but succumb to it and hope Phoenix opens his parachute.
“Edgeworth?” Phoenix says, and his voice is a little shaky, and a little of something else. Anticipation, maybe? Fear?
He’s been silent for too long, but Phoenix lets it hang there, eyes wide and shoulders tense. “Phoenix,” he starts, and the use of his first name seems to put the other man even more on edge. “I don’t even know where to begin, truthfully. But I don’t think we can keep pretending anymore. That this isn’t what it is. And if you don’t want this, or if I’ve misread, I don’t expect anything from you, of course, I just–I need to say it, and I need you to hear it, ok? You and Trucy, you’re my family, Phoenix, and I–”
“Hang on,” Phoenix says, and he covers his face with his hands. “Just hang on a second.”
“Phoenix–”
“Just shut up for one second, ok?” Phoenix’s face is still obscured, and his knuckles are white, and Edgeworth can tell clear as day that he’s crying.
“If I misinterpreted, or–well. If I said something I shouldn’t have, Phoenix, please–” Edgeworth says, and he doesn’t know what he’s even asking for, just that he needs it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t–”
Phoenix inhales, more a wheeze than anything else. “No, fuck , Miles, it’s not that, I just–I love you too, god I do. But what the hell am I supposed to do with that?”
“You didn’t even let me say it.”
Phoenix laughs wetly, but it’s a more cynical laugh than Edgeworth is used to hearing from him, and the sound makes his brow furrow. “Say it now, then.”
“Sorry?”
“Say it now.”
Edgeworth waits a moment, to see if Phoenix is going to look up at him, is going to give him the chance to do the whole confession thing properly, but he doesn’t move from where he’s buried in his palms. “Well, I. I love you. I love you.”
“I love you too,” Phoenix says again, and he’s fully sobbing now. Edgeworth wishes he were with him, but he’s not sure if it’s so he could run away or so he could get closer. “ Fuck . I love you too.”
Phoenix is quiet for a long while, working to steady his shaky, erratic breathing, and Edgeworth cannot think of anything to do but to be silent and wait for him to say anything at all.
“What are we supposed to do?” he says after the most agonizing seven minutes of Edgeworth’s life. “I can’t do it, not like this.”
“Come visit me,” Edgeworth hears the words leave his mouth before he even thinks them. “You and Trucy. Come visit.”
Phoenix finally lifts his head up. “What?”
“Come visit me, in Berlin. Please.”
Phoenix is silent again, but this time he looks closer to shell-shocked than abjectly miserable, so Edgeworth thinks maybe he’s getting somewhere.
“Ok,” he says, and Edgeworth lets out a breath that makes him realize how close he was to losing it entirely. “Ok, yeah. I’ll come visit.”
From: [email protected]
Subject: Possible MASON Case Reports
-
Wright,
I’ve attached some articles down below I think might be of use to you. I think the first one in particular might provide a good case report on the efficacy of juror-centered systems in the context of criminal trials. Let me know what you think.
-
Miles Edgeworth, J.D., PhD
Associate Professor, Humboldt University of Berlin
[Open 3 Attachments]
From: [email protected]
Subject: re: Possible MASON Case Reports
-
Thanks Edgeworth,
First two look great, third one I can’t read since it’s in German, haha. But I’m sure it’s great too. Not sure I’d be able to get much of anywhere with this without your fancy law school databases.
Is it weird to be sending emails after a love confession? I think it might be weird.
xoxo
-p
From: [email protected]
Subject: re: re: Possible MASON Case Reports
-
Wright,
This is my work email, and I did not expect you to be awake so late. I did not want to wake you with a text, and wasn’t sure if you would want to talk about it, considering your reaction.
My apologies about the article; I’ve attached the English translation down below.
-
Miles Edgeworth, J.D., PhD
Associate Professor, Humboldt University of Berlin
[Open 1 Attachment]
From: [email protected]
Subject: re: re: re: Possible MASON Case Reports
-
Hey, I said it back, didn’t I? I hope you know I meant it. It’s just hard and it all sucks but I don’t need to be telling you that.
I’m excited to see you though. Trucy is too. Are you still picking us up from the airport on Friday?
-p
From: [email protected]
Subject: re: re: re: re: Possible MASON Case Reports
-
This is a highly unprofessional place to be having this conversation. But yes, I will be picking you up. I’m excited to see you both as well.
Love,
-
Miles Edgeworth, J.D., PhD
Associate Professor, Humboldt University of Berlin
Everything from the cab to airport security to their descent into Berlin is a blur. Phoenix hasn’t flown in years, and he’s not sure he likes it very much, but he’s not really thinking about the jet lag or the turbulence or the twelve dollars he had to spend to get Trucy a bottle of water because as soon as the plane lands he and Miles Edgeworth are in the same country, in the same building, and he’s had the past 14 hours to decide that he’d really like to kiss him, even if he regrets it later. Future Phoenix can deal with that–if it hurts too much and he wishes he would have never come here and let himself feel what it would be like if they could really be together–because present Phoenix wants to kiss Miles Edgeworth in the baggage claim of the Berlin Brandenburg Airport more than he wants to breathe.
It takes them a while, since neither of them can read any of the signs, but the pictures are enough that they eventually make their way to where Miles said he’d meet them. He’s standing up against the large floor-to-ceiling windows in the arrivals lounge, haloed by the last streaks of sunlight filtering through the clouds, and he lifts a hand to wave as he sees them approach.
Phoenix can’t even really remember crossing the room to meet him, but suddenly Miles is right in front of him, and his hands are on Phoenix’s cheeks, and Phoenix feels starry and a little unsteady on his feet as he pulls him in for a kiss.
Trucy doesn’t seem surprised in the least, despite the fact that he’s told her nothing, so he’ll have to interrogate her about that later, but for now it doesn’t matter, because Miles Edgeworth is here and he loves him and the taste of his chapstick (cucumber melon?) still lingers on Phoenix’s lips.
Miles loads them into his car and drives them to the hotel to drop their bags off. He talks about restaurants and possible locations for dessert after dinner and asks Trucy all about her latest routine and Phoenix can’t stop smiling through all of it. It’s going to hurt later, it’s going to be horrible. But it doesn’t hurt right now. Right now it’s good. Right now it’s perfect, and Phoenix is blissfully, stupidly in love.
Trucy picks a restaurant for dinner despite the fact that they both still feel like it’s morning, and Miles insists on paying. He takes them to a pastry shop near the university and he walks them down the river and kisses Phoenix again outside the restaurant, and again after he finishes his dessert, and again on the bank of the river.
Phoenix feels high, dreamlike, and he wonders what he was ever afraid of. He loves Miles Edgeworth, and Miles Edgeworth loves him, and that’s all that matters. The rest is just details, and they can make it work, because it’s love.
That is, until it’s four hours later, and Phoenix is left alone in his too-fancy hotel room for all of 20 minutes while Miles goes to try to get him more of those fancy little soaps for the room, and everything comes crashing down around him.
It can’t last. It’s perfect and it’s beautiful but it’s fleeting, and now that he’s experienced it he’s never going to be able to go back. He’s worse for knowing what it could be like, if they weren’t cursed by distance and time and a million other things, because now that he knows, he’s not sure he can live without it. The only thing worse than not having Miles is hurting him, and Phoenix feels like he’s just driven a knife into the other man’s heart. He’s going to have to pull it out eventually. He’s going to have to hurt the man who’s working so hard to get him more little hotel soaps.
There’s a knock at the door, and he hears Miles swipe in, and it’s only from the look on his face that Phoenix realizes he’s crying.
“Love?” Miles says, and fuck that hurts. “Phoenix, what’s wrong?”
He tries to open his mouth to speak, to explain to Miles how this was all clearly a huge mistake and how sorry he is for dragging him into it, but all that comes out is a choked noise that Phoenix doesn’t even really recognize as himself, and it’s too late to tell Miles to save himself while he still can, because he’s already moving across the room to sit next to Phoenix at the foot of the bed.
He sits as close as he can without touching Phoenix, and Phoenix all at once hates how careful and considerate he is, because it's going to make everything so much harder, and because he’s too much of a coward to ask Miles to touch him.
Phoenix lets his body fall back onto the bed so he doesn’t have to see Miles’ face, but Miles just follows, laying down right next to him so Phoenix has no choice but to look. This time, he does touch him, wrapping his arms around Phoenix and pulling him into his chest, so when Phoenix cries, it’s right into the knit of Miles’ soft red sweater.
“You’re being an idiot.”
Phoenix startles enough that his chest stops heaving all at once. “What?”
“You’re being an idiot about this whole thing,” Miles says. “If you’re upset because this isn’t what you want, then I understand, and things can go back to how they were and we don’t have to ever discuss any of this ever again.”
“That’s not–”
“But,” he interrupts. “If you’re upset because you think this won’t work or it’s too far or you have some grand notion of protecting me, well then I honestly don’t give a damn about any of that, and I think you’re an idiot.”
Phoenix blinks dumbly back at him. “You live halfway across the world. That isn’t nothing.”
“I’m well aware of the distance, Wright,” Miles huffs. “And I had all the same information you did when I asked you to come here.”
“But Kristoph–”
“Gavin could not matter less to me when it comes to this decision.”
“Edgeworth, I–”
“Can I tell you what I think this is really about?” Miles says, and he sounds a little angry, which is something Phoenix is having a hard time reconciling with the way Miles is still holding him to his chest as gently as ever. Phoenix says nothing, and so he continues.
“I think that this is really about you feeling sorry for yourself and wallowing in your misery. Since the disbarment–” Phoenix winces at the word, but Miles continues. “ –you’ve been acting like you have nothing going for you at all anymore, like you’re on some infinite downwards spiral from now until the end of time. And Phoenix, I know what it’s like, to feel like you don’t deserve good things– God do I know–but stop pretending like this is all because you think you need to save me from whatever consequences you think this might have, because I’ve considered all of them and I do not care.”
They sit in silence for a length of time Phoenix doesn’t bother trying to comprehend. The tension is building in the air, and the decision is weighing on him now, but Miles still holds him. Miles is still here.
“Ok,” Phoenix says, and it feels more like a confession than anything else he’s said. “Ok, yeah. I’m in.”
Miles exhales, and Phoenix feels his chest move under him as he does. He moves his arms from where they’re tucked into his chest and wraps them around Miles so the two of them are entangled with each other, and for the first time since he arrived in Berlin he feels like he can let himself breathe. Miles is here, and he loves him, and the rest is just details. Shitty, miserable details, but details.
“I love you,” Miles says, in the same tone that Phoenix has heard him say the prosecution rests so many times. The same tone he gets when he knows he’s won an argument.
For the first and last time, Phoenix doesn’t mind conceding.
“I love you too.”