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It was another day, and another carefully crafted document that Miles Edgeworth was bringing to one Phoenix Wright. For approximately eight years now, Miles had been using any shared documents between himself and Phoenix to send Phoenix little coded messages:
“I think you’re brilliant.”
“You’re my best friend, there’s no one I’d rather have by my side.”
“I’m so very proud of you, Wright, you’re doing the best you can.”
“I don’t know what my life would be without you, but I can tell you that it certainly wouldn’t be nearly as vibrant.”
“I’ve never met a man so beautifully kind as you are. I don’t think I ever shall.”
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
Of course, it was an old code that Miles was using, one that they had come up with when they were still children. So it was entirely possible that Phoenix had forgotten. It was entirely possible that he simply didn’t notice Miles’ heart on the page every time he borrowed notes or read the passive-aggressive reminders Miles was known to leave on his desk in the Agency.
But based on Phoenix’s reactions, Miles was sure he hadn’t noticed. Or rather, he hoped he hadn’t noticed. He’d never acknowledged the messages, so Miles was still holding out hope that Phoenix was just oblivious, as opposed to quietly hating him and/or not being nearly as violently in love as Miles.
“Here’s the ah, the autopsy report you requested,” Miles said, holding out the plain manilla folder. “I’ve written down a few other bits of pertinent information.”
“From the Chief Prosecutor himself!” Phoenix said, eyes crinkling as he took the files. “You’re not gonna go and update this on me, are you?”
“That was one time, Phoenix. Are you never going to let that go?”
“Nope!”
“Well,” Miles said, rolling his eyes fondly. “It’s a good thing we’re not opposing counsel on this case, or else I might be tempted. For old time’s sake, as they so often say.”
Phoenix snorted. “No thank you. You were a real asshole back then, you know that?”
“I’ve been told I still am,” Miles said lightly. Phoenix smacked his arm. “Get back to your courtroom, Wright. I’d hate to see you get trounced by Winston Payne because you were too busy insulting a completely innocent third party.”
“Innocent. Yeah, right,” Phoenix said, shaking his head. He looked at Miles with a lopsided grin. “But does that mean you’re gonna come watch?”
“Of course. How else am I to write scathing performance reviews?” Miles said, tilting his head. As Phoenix walked back towards the courtroom chuckling, he couldn’t help but feel rather pleased with himself.
He’d always loved the sound of Phoenix’s laughter.
“You seem happier these days. I’m glad.”
“What’s this?” Phoenix asked, holding up Miles’ copy of Macbeth. He’d let himself into Miles’ office about fifteen minutes prior, only to get bored when Miles—horror of all horrors—simply kept doing his paperwork, and started poking around the room. He began to flip through the pages idly. “I didn’t know you were into Shakespeare.”
“I’m not,” Miles said, looking back down at the files he was supposed to be working on. Truthfully, he hadn’t been able to focus at all since Phoenix had walked into the room, but it was good to keep up a pretense every now and again.
Phoenix raised one eyebrow. “It’s annotated.”
“Yes, well. I know that you still have a soft spot for the theater. I thought perhaps...since you often indulge me in my recreational activities, it would be...nice. To be able to make conversation, at least, about these sorts of things.”
Phoenix stared at him for an uncomfortably long time, his jaw agape. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but still. Miles could feel his face grow warm. Finally, Phoenix said, “That’s...”
“My apologies,” Miles said quickly. “If I've stepped over some sort of line —”
“What? No no no,” Phoenix interrupted, putting the book down gently so he could walk over to Miles’ desk. He covered Miles’ papers with one hand, something he often did to ensure he had his full attention. “That’s not what I meant at all, I just—that was just...really sweet of you, Miles. Really sweet and thoughtful.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah,” Phoenix said, smiling warmly at him. “You don’t have to try to impress me, you know. I won’t disown you just because you don’t know the first thing about Hamlet.”
“That’s another tragedy, is it not?”
“Yeah, why?”
“It’s simple, they all die in the end. I’d suspect the main character goes on a quest for revenge of some sort, but allows himself to get too caught up in it, and as a result begins to go insane. He’ll have died either by poison or the sword.”
Phoenix clicked his tongue. “You’ve already read that one, haven’t you?”
“I’ve already read that one,” Miles confirmed, sighing.
“Cheater,” he said fondly. “You made it too obvious. And you should’ve known I was gonna waste your working hours talking all about it after.”
“I don’t have much of a choice in the matter, do I?” Miles asked, putting his more sensitive documents away. “But I suppose if I’m being honest, I did find the Prince of Denmark to be rather relatable.”
“Of course you did...”
Later that night, Miles texted him a photo of two electronic tickets, followed by a lengthy paragraph explaining why really, Phoenix simply had to attend the show with him, because they couldn’t possibly let the tickets go to waste.
“Time spent with you is never wasted.”
“Don’t forget our dinner arrangements,” Miles said, steering Phoenix out the door gently.
“I know, I know,” Phoenix said. “How could I? What with the little notes you write me all the time, I think I’d have a hard time forgetting much of anything.”
Miles made a pleased little humming sound. “Good. Would you rather I pick you up from your office or from your apartment?”
Phoenix hesitated for a moment. “Apartment,” he said, fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves. “I should wear something other than my court suit, right?”
“It’s only a simple meal that I’m making,” Miles said, starting to flush. “And I’m only a mediocre chef at best. Anything you choose to wear will be fine.”
“Alright, uh. Cool. And you’re sure I can’t bring anything?”
Miles looked at his friend’s earnest face. “Well...I suppose if you wanted to bring a dessert, that would not be amiss.”
“Perfect, you still like chocolate chip cookies, right?”
“I’m fairly certain that everyone likes chocolate chip cookies, Phoenix.”
“I was just checking!”
Barely an hour later, Miles’ phone chimed.
Phoenix [1:48]: so. i may or may not have burned the cookies.
Phoenix [1:48]: you still love me, right?
Miles shook his head, unable to keep himself from smiling as he replied to his terribly dear friend. He should have expected it, really. Phoenix was notoriously bad at following recipes.
“I love you no matter how many mistakes you may make.”
And so it went, Miles would leave Phoenix with sentiments or encouragements, or even just declarations of love. He barely thought about it anymore; after about a year of quietly loving Phoenix from a distance, it had become like second nature.
Which was why, when Phoenix brought it up at the end of a long night, with the remnants of a cold case they’d been working on spread across Miles’ couch with them, Miles was nearly shocked out of his skin.
“Hey Miles?” Phoenix asked, peering at him from behind an evidence list. “D’you remember that code we made up, back when we were kids?”
Miles blinked at him. What could have possibly sparked this topic of conversation? Not that Miles didn’t want Phoenix to know about it exactly, but he hadn’t somehow made Phoenix uncomfortable, had he?
That’s probably what this is about. He’s going to tell me that he’s tolerated it for so long already, but really it has to come to an end. It’s entirely inappropriate, he’ll say, for one colleague to be sending those sorts of things to another.
Miles frowned. That didn’t sound like Phoenix Wright at all, even in a worst-case scenario. And really, that was worst-case. What was the most likely thing to happen, then?
It’s most likely completely unrelated. He’s likely only trying to reminisce about our friendship, as one does with old friends. And even if he was rejecting me, he would be kind about it, I’m sure. That’s the kind of man Phoenix is.
“Hey, you still there?” Phoenix asked, bringing Miles out of his thoughts with a light touch to his knee. The action was gentle, carefully so, but even still, he was almost startled off the couch by it. Like a cat that had just been woken up from a nap.
“The ah, the one from fourth grade?” he asked, deciding to act like nothing had happened. It was a strategy that was effective almost never, not around Phoenix Wright at least. “That was a standard Playfair, if I recall correctly. I believe the key was ‘Samurai Trio’, was it not?”
“Yeah, that one,” Phoenix said, smiling. But Miles could tell that he was nervous about something. His toe was tapping against the ground, and he kept looking back and forth between Miles and the papers in his hand. “So this was something I just kinda noticed—or I guess Larry noticed, and then he asked me about it—but it’s kinda neat. All the stuff you’ve been handing me for like, the past month at least—they’ve all had these little messages.”
“And what do they say?” Miles asked, breath catching in his throat.
“Well, to be honest,” Phoenix said, fidgeting in his seat. “A lot of them were confessions and stuff. Love confessions. And I know you didn’t mean it or anything but —”
“Why wouldn’t I mean it?”
“Huh?” Phoenix looked surprised at Miles’ interruption. “But there’s no way you could’ve! Neither of us remembered that code until just recently!”
“Objection,” Miles said softly. He took the papers Phoenix was still holding and set them down on the coffee table. “There’s no evidence to prove I didn’t know about it before you brought it up again. And—even if there was—that doesn’t mean those messages are automatically untrue.”
Phoenix gulped as Miles took his hands gently in his. “So then, you’re saying...?”
“I love you, Phoenix Wright. And I meant every word of it. Every message I’ve sent you for the past eight years—they were all completely sincere.”
“Eight years,” Phoenix whispered, his eyes wide with wonder. “You’ve loved me for eight years.”
“I was starting to think you might never take the hint,” Miles confessed quietly.
“I thought—I dunno, I thought it was just wishful thinking,” Phoenix said, his eyes scanning Miles’ face. He shook his head, a slow grin starting to form. “I love you, too, Miles. I never thought...”
“But Larry apparently did.”
Phoenix shoved Miles away from him, laughing. “Way to ruin the moment.”
“We’re ridiculous, aren’t we?” Miles said, starting to laugh as well. It seemed like every time one of them was about to stop, the two made eye contact, sending them into a fresh set of giggles.
“Yeah, we’re ridiculous,” Phoenix finally said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. He grabbed Miles’ hand again and smiled warmly at him. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”