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With all the evidence gathered in the past several days scattered purposefully over the desk, Franziska stays in the corner fixing herself a cup of tea as Miles sifts through the loaded folder of information. He’s left his coat on, but from the state of his office and posture, likely won’t be out until much later.
He manages to remove the autopsy report before Franziska suddenly approaches him, nearly ripping out the main file.
“Be careful,” he warns, as she removes her gloves, setting them aside by her emptied cup.
“Do you take me for a fool?” Franziska irritatedly shoots back while reading through it, her eyebrows furrowing as she takes in the details.
She paces around the room as Miles’ gaze follows her to the couch, sitting down with her legs crossed.
“Clear cut as always,” she calls out, her voice flat as Miles’ attention goes back to the report.
‘[ ]’s Autopsy Report
Time of death: 12/21, 7:00P.M-9:00P.M.
Cause of death: Gunshot wound to chest.’
Although Miles has already done a thorough investigation, holding onto all evidence and knowledge gained through every witness involved, he never fails to read through everything as many times as time would allow him.
Franziska, appearing satisfied, reorganizes the file back into the folder.
“The outcome is obvious enough, even someone as incompetent as you could achieve it.”
As impolite as she can be, Miles is aware of her underlying support. She allows him to walk through the case with her, and listens to his input. She even agrees with him.
“Peculiarly, the missing spare key seems to be of no interest to the actual file,” Miles points out, squinting over the single, almost throwaway sentence mentioning it.
Franziska matches his frown as he moves over the sheet of paper, giving her a better line of view.
“Have you sent that useless fool back to the scene of the crime?”
Miles nods, immediately knowing who she’s talking about.
“Nothing new came up.”
Detective Gumshoe had excitedly reported this to him as though it was great news.
“Oh, how foolish to take the word of a fool.”
“Yes, yes...” Miles sets the papers where they were previously on the desk.
Franziska stands right behind him as his eyes roam over the witness testimonies, finally focusing in on the third account.
“Now, I was thinking about that witness I spoke with, the downstairs neighbor who supposedly woke up an hour before the murder-”
Abruptly, fists violently thump against the door, painfully out of sync.
“Knock knock!”
Miles doesn’t even bother to look at Franziska, knowing his sister is just as troubled.
Neither of them move to open it, but the spirit medium invites herself in regardless. Miles wonders offhandedly how she got into the building in the first place, and how many more times she will go to jail if this is any indication of her regular behavior.
“Mr. Edgeworth! And Franziska,” Maya exclaims, greeting the other woman with stretched out arms.
Franziska does not return the enthusiasm, scooting behind her so called ‘younger’ brother. However, she does return the greeting, albeit meekly.
“Maya,” she says, her head peeking out from Miles’ shoulder.
“Miss Fey,” Miles also acknowledges her, not as fearful as Franziska as she zips up to him, smiling ear to ear, “to what do we owe the pleasure?”
She laughs, slapping at him like they’re old friends.
“Come on, Mr. Edgeworth, don’t be like that! We’ve been seeing each other a lot lately! You know our law firm, and how we’ve been coming up short the past few court cases—every time we just barely get by!”
He gives her a very unamused look, but doesn’t stop her.
“You’re a real hassle to us even though you’ve never actually wo...ahem, I mean, you’re a good rival! Nick thinks so, too!”
“Wright thinks so,” Miles repeats, dryly.
Maya’s smile turns weary at the older prosecutor’s dubiousness.
“He actually sent me here! To ask you to join him at the Burger Barn! And to cover him!”
Miles is not rude enough to inquire about their balance—or debt, if he wasn’t so generous—instead barely listening to her while going over each refusal preplanned in his head.
“I deeply apologize,” he starts, before Maya sends a gaze of desperation towards Franziska.
“But it’s Christmas! And it’s already so late, you should probably get ready to leave! If you’re worried about the case, you’re not the only one working on it—right, Franzy?”
The other young woman seems to disagree with her line of reasoning, her arms tightly crossed against her chest with pursed, downturned lips.
“Don’t be foolish. He’s the only prosecutor fulfilling the role,” she chides, coming in between Miles and Maya, nibbling on her finger in thought.
Her contemplation ends as her gaze turns frustrated, though she steps away, no longer blocking her brother from the door.
“Don’t bother coming back,” she scowls, “a prodigy doesn’t need help from a soft weakling like you.”
Miles can’t hide the bewilderment on his face as Maya links their arms together, giddy as she playfully waves a goodbye to the young woman already taking over, reading through the testimonies.
“It’s chilly out,” Maya remarks, as they have somehow made it out of the office and over to the elevator.
He remembers the girl can channel spirits, but surely she cannot conjure enough strength to drag him by his feet. Miles supposes within the confines of his usually logical mind, there pertains a slight, though insistent urge to go out of the lawful bounds of his schedule.
“Thank you for coming out,” Maya tells him, bowing her head when she lets go of his arm.
There are a lot of responses he could give, many not so savory, and mainly pointing out how he very much did not come out of volition. Nevertheless, Miles opts out of arguing with a teenager—no matter how old she gets, will always remain one in his eyes—and resignedly faces the doors of the fast food restaurant.
“Is he here?”
The beads on her necklace jangle as she spins around. “Nick’s been waiting around an hour, I reckon.”
“Goodnight, Mr. Edgeworth! I hope you have a good time!”
His hand barely lifts up before she’s gone.
Miles peers across the restaurant, honing in on the only other person present beyond unpaid workers giving him tired smiles. Even if there were more people, he’s the only man not locked up donning spiked back hair.
He doesn’t say a word when he’s beside the booth, taking off his coat.
“Hey!” Phoenix jumps out of his chair, getting up to help him fish his arm out of his sleeve.
He looks surprisingly well dressed, not wearing the full, tackily blue suit Miles always sees him in. His hair is still gelled up, though a few black strands have fallen by his forehead.
The defense attorney has definitely been at his office; Miles can tell simply from his demeanor and open collared white button down and red tie.
Phoenix probably ditched his blazer at his desk.
“Isn’t it stuffy wearing that suit all the time? You’ve even got on your cravat,” he jokes, as Miles folds the coat over his side.
“Good to see you too, Wright.”
“Ahaha, right. Oh, and I already ordered ahead. Sorry if it’s a bit cold...”
“I thought you wanted me to cover you?” Miles asks, confused to see two trays already on the table.
“What?”
Phoenix looks genuinely taken aback, before chuckling aloud. It awakens something warm in Miles’ chest; immediately, he glowers.
He has never liked feeling so vulnerable, especially not in front of Phoenix Wright.
“Maya’s been saying nonsense again, hasn’t she? I can at least afford Burger Barn...it definitely is an interesting choice to ask someone out to.”
“That it is,” Miles agrees, relieved that at the very least Phoenix wasn’t completely unaware.
Taking a bite out of his grilled chicken sandwich, Phoenix swallows before asking, “How’s the case been going? Knowing you, you never take a break.”
“Homicide in an apartment complex not far from here. Most definitely a crime of passion, due to the nature of the body with its additional stab wounds and no valuables taken. I’ve gotten through every witness, though suspect nefarious intent beyond the official report.”
“There’s our Edgeworth. Demon prosecutor,” Phoenix laughs in playful jest, watching fondly as Miles’ ears redden in embarrassment.
They continue eating, not exchanging much small talk as Phoenix wipes the crumbs off his fingers, waiting for Miles to finish his portions.
“Still at work, even out with others, huh.” Phoenix doesn’t sound at all affronted, grinning as Miles grunts in response, his fists clenched over the table.
“Well, how about you?” Seeing Phoenix’s puzzled expression, Miles snorts.
“How have you been doing? Are you working on any cases?”
“Nah, surely you would’ve heard about it if I was. We’re always seeing each other at court,” Phoenix points out, smiling, “nobody’s come to us for any holiday related lawsuit.”
“Glad to hear,” Miles says, an employee soon coming over to take their trays and let them know they’re closing soon.
He’s quick to put his coat back on, and clear his throat as he gets up.
“This was...” Miles’ first thought is much too short, but he finishes with, “...nice.”
He manages to get out of the building, but Phoenix doesn’t let him out of his sight.
Phoenix grabs his arm, loosening his grip as though just realizing what he’s done. “Hey, wait. Don’t go yet.”
It’s not exactly pleading—one could argue Miles can tell from hearing so much of it when his verdicts are set in court—but it does stop him in place, listening carefully.
“We can go to the park and chat some more. I know you don’t like Christmas, but going back to that office can’t be the best feeling.”
Miles doesn’t care for the holiday, or any of its traditions, but truthfully he wants to linger and bicker, if not to make up for the time he spent away from his old friend.
“Where, Gourd Lake?”
Phoenix almost yells, shocked. “No! I would never take you there. There’s actually a park near my office. You ever heard of People Park?”
He has, but he’s not about to admit to hanging around Phoenix’s living space without dropping by. Not only does it make him seem like a stalker, but it also reveals his desire, one of the things that makes him so weak.
Phoenix spots his cold, pale hands. Miles has a full body shiver when Phoenix’s palms press over his own.
“It’s warmer this way,” he says, softly.
Miles maintains a split second of eye contact—he can’t keep it up for long, the tenderness reflected in the man’s gray eyes far too much for him to bear.
He pulls one of his hands away, but leaves the other in Phoenix’s hold, who can’t stop beaming as they walk together.
The park is down a narrow alleyway, beside a traditional looking Japanese home. Phoenix leads Miles through a maze of bushes and a kids playground.
“The decorations are scarce this year around,” Phoenix says, looking at the tangled lights tied around each post, and inflatable candy canes stuck to the sidewalk leading into the next neighborhood.
“Indeed.” Miles is relieved to see no giant Santas parading around or blinding lights by the dozen strung over each pine tree.
Phoenix stops near the park’s exit, gently taking Miles with him to a bench directly facing the moon. It’s nothing special, the night sky littered with clouds and enough light pollution for not many stars to shine through, but it remains a bright, pretty source of light nonetheless.
Miles knows a lot about Phoenix, things from when they were young and even newly recent facts easily forked over by his young associates. He knows some details he’ll never say out loud; how lovely Phoenix looks as his eyes crinkle in pure glee, when he’s sporting a genuine smile or that of a lawyer’s.
He doesn’t know why they’re both sitting down holding hands as though they’re nine years old, cutting their curfews and sharing giggles as they huddle inside shelter, maybe a playground tunnel, squeezing each other’s palms so tight one might think they’re attached.
“Is Franziska the same?” Phoenix asks, though both of them know the answer.
“If I recall correctly, she called me a ‘soft weakling’ on my way out.”
Phoenix stifles a laugh, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing the outer side of Miles’ hand.
“I think she’ll always be a firecracker. Not like Maya, but more similar to her than she’d like to think.”
For an instant, Miles imagines the look of pure horror on Franziska’s face that would occur if he had recited such a thing to her. He almost chokes on the laugh that comes out, covering his mouth with his free fist.
Phoenix squeezes his hand, as though encouraging his unfiltered emotions.
“I know how hard you are on yourself, but I’d really like you to stay here. Not ‘here’, here, but with your mind off work. I’m still selfish, after all,” Phoenix admits, the laugh he lets out self deprecating.
“I can’t help but think if I let you go, you’ll be gone. For good.”
Phoenix looks at Miles with an unreadable gaze.
“I know we’ve talked about it. You never made any signs to leave again, even when I was so harsh. I...I don’t think I’m over it yet, but I’m not mad anymore.”
The grip Phoenix has on his hand, then, is so light a gust of wind could push him off. Miles prays, in the back of his head, to a God he doesn’t believe in, that they stay clasped for just a minute longer.
“I just need to know if you’ll do it again, at the expense of everything, for your purpose. I won’t blame you.”
Miles quietly gasps, unaware of the long breath he’s been holding. His heart skips a beat at the notion of Phoenix telling him it was okay to seek his own destination, even if that means another departure.
“Ask me however many times you wish, Wright. I’ve found my meaning. I don’t need to find it again.”
“I believe you, Miles...I always have,” Phoenix sighs, “but if you’re going to disappear for some other reason...no matter how much I want to, I can’t do this.”
“This...Wright, what exactly do you mean?”
Phoenix finally lets go of his hand, but Miles’ stomach sinks as he gathers the feeling of emptiness is worse than any level of misunderstanding.
“You tell me.”
Miles has known of the pain he’s inflicted upon Phoenix; he’s always been unsure, feeling undeserving of the other man’s trust. Yet as changed a man as he is, he had to acknowledge eventually that meant the same for Phoenix. They aren’t children anymore, nor the same men they were two years ago.
Still, he can’t quite bring himself to say anything.
Breathing out a puff of cold air, Miles turns away and shoves his hands in his coat pockets. Phoenix doesn’t look surprised. Perhaps a better term might be defeated.
“Fine. That’s fine,” he repeats to himself, sighing.
“Let’s just go back. I’m not going to keep trying if there’s nothing left.”
Not bothering to look back to Miles, or the hurt flashing in his eyes, Phoenix angrily spits out,
“Why did you even ask me out? If you didn’t care anymore?”
Although Miles has no idea what he’s talking about, he immediately denies the allegation, countering Phoenix’s fierce, but pained glare.
“Of course I care-you may not think that of me because of what happened, but I care...I care about you..more than I...”
Ducking his head down, Miles grits his teeth in anger at what he’s said. Phoenix is right; there’s nothing left.
Nothing but the bitterness left behind from what he did. Anything that could have been salvaged was ruined, just like he ruins everything. His father, legacy, and now—
Phoenix’s arms wrap around his back, his nose digging into his neck as he hugs him. He belatedly understands why, when his face buries itself into Phoenix’s shoulder, dampening it.
His shuddering diminishes as Phoenix’s embrace remains heavy and definite, his fingers stroking through the back of his gray bangs.
“I can’t read your mind, Miles,” he murmurs, his tone non confrontational, “I shouldn’t have said that. I thought you asked me out because...well, forget what I thought.”
Miles loudly sniffles, not concerned at that point over how Phoenix may react to him humiliating himself. It’s not like he hasn’t seen it before, back when they were kids, and when he was in that jail cell.
“...Wright,” he croaks, lightly coughing out, “I’m sorry.”
“None of that! I don’t know what you’re apologizing for, but I’ve forgiven you for everything.”
“You’ve not changed much...”
Miles sniffles once more, this time into his sleeve that he’s brought around Wright’s neck.
“...I’m glad we’ve gotten to catch up, but,” Miles bites his lip, nervous, “I never asked you out.”
Phoenix freezes, stuck to Miles’ chest.
“...”
“..............”
“...” Phoenix groans, “...Maya...”
Their sudden, collective realization of how they’ve been duped is too comical for both of them, struggling as they shake together in laughing fits.
“Miss Fey...she came to my office to give a spiel about how little money you have, and how you needed me to pay for food.”
They chuckled at that, but there was a short silence that came before Phoenix spoke.
“She told me you wanted...to go on a date with me,” he blurts, backing his head away so Miles can see the pink blooming over his face.
“I ran to Burger Barn. Left the office a mess...gah, why am I even telling you this...”
Miles smiles at this unfamiliar display; not by any means is it sadistical, but he is happy to see Phoenix, not normally poised, but generally relaxed, in a flustered state.
If this is something that Miles is allowed to watch, then maybe things aren’t as dire as he often believes. He feels like he could define the unknown behind their relationship that Phoenix brought up.
Even better, his feelings surpass his doubt.
“She should have told me that, too.”
“What do you mean?”
Miles looks him in the eye.
“If I had thought you were asking me out on a date, Wright...I would have come sooner.”
Phoenix gapes as he continues, “You should have known something was up. You thought I would ask you out at Burger Barn?”
“...It’s Christmas, and nothing else is open...”
“So I would have brought you to my home, or even my office. Light up some candles. Set up an ambience, talk about anything but my latest case over champagne…”
As he prattles on, he doesn’t notice the shift in Phoenix’s gaze, from shocked to loving.
“Sounds like the perfect date, Miles.”
“Of course, any less for you would be preposterous.”
Phoenix faintly giggles, cutting off the functioning part of Miles’ brain.
“Is that a confession?”
“N-No, not a confession,” Miles stammers, trying to ignore the heat rising to his cheeks.
“It’s...a promise.”
“You mean it?”
Phoenix honestly couldn’t care less about him saying anything more, though, removing his arms from his back to cup Miles’ face.
“Hey, can I...?”
Before nodding, Miles states, “If you say yes. To our date.”
“Yes!” Phoenix shouts with unbridled glee, so excited he almost crushes their faces together.
It is absolutely a long time coming, and rather frantic considering how old the two of them are, but Miles leans into the kiss until he’s physically out of air.
Phoenix, about to kiss him again, pauses.
“I never said it, but...I love you. You don’t have to say it back, but I’m just so happy, I couldn’t hold back.”
Miles initiates their second kiss, his heart fluttering as he too can’t hold himself back.
“I love you too, Phoenix.”