Archive of Our Own

“Are you leaving?” 

Standing in the doorway of his office, soft-edged in the dim glow from the hall, is Phoenix Wright. Edgeworth knows well enough by now what he’s asking.

“Yes,” he replies. “In two days.” 

He’s booked a commercial flight back, because Franziska’s going to Iceland and he’d let her take the jet. He’s going to Munich and dreading the next time he has to look the crew in the eye after his fourteen hour, panic-driven emergency flight. She would have taken the jet even if he hadn’t asked her to. It was her own sort of kindness.

Phoenix is silent for a long time. When Edgeworth looks up at him, his face is completely blank. That’s the moment he knows something is wrong.

“Oh,” Phoenix says, like he’s just been informed they’re no longer serving breakfast at the cafe around the corner and now he has to order something else. Impassive, if maybe a little disappointed. “…That makes sense.”

Edgeworth would like to think he knows Phoenix well enough by now to know that this isn’t right. His hand that isn’t holding the door frame is curled into a fist. It’s trembling. Edgeworth sighs.

“Is that all then?” he asks, because his mouth won’t form the words of concern he wants to say. 

“Yeah,” Phoenix replies. “Just checking.” His eyes scan over the dark corners of Edgeworth’s office, the ones that aren’t touched by his small desk lamp. He hasn’t looked at him once.

Edgeworth raises an eyebrow, because the heavy feeling in his chest is making it hard to talk at all.

“…And I was wondering if you could drive Maya and Pearl back to Kurain. The- uh- the train takes forever.”

“That’s fine,” he replies with a relieved sigh. It’s far more than fine, really. It’s another chance to collect himself, to show his friend he cares in some other way than transatlantic plane trips. “When should I collect you?” 

“Tomorrow morning, if that’s okay. Maya has some stuff to sort out up there now, obviously.” Phoenix makes a vague, half-thought out hand gesture, and then it clenches back into a fist.

“Nine o’clock, then?” he suggests, mentally calculating traffic and wondering if it’d be appropriate to stop for breakfast.

Phoenix grimaces. “Make it ten.” It’s the first hint of emotion he’s seen on his face since the conversation started.

“Ten it is,” Edgeworth says, instead of wondering aloud about the million different expressions he’s seen Phoenix make, or the rather sudden lack thereof.  He even hazards a tiny smile, as if that’ll fix a problem he can clearly see but can’t verbalize. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Wright.”

“Bye!” Phoenix calls, already halfway down the hall.

That night in bed, Edgeworth is exhausted, but he finds that he can’t fall asleep.

He hadn’t expected Phoenix to be his normal self, of course. The type of trial they’d just fought would take a lot out of anyone, let alone someone who’d walked away from the impossible with a head cold to show for it. 

He expected Phoenix to be drained, to be grumpy, to be upset, even. He wasn’t the type to go down quietly, no matter the circumstances. Edgeworth would go so far as to call him dramatic. 

He’d seen Phoenix drained, just a few days prior in that awful hospital bed. He’d blinked up at him, bleary-eyed and hopped up on painkillers, and given him some speech about truth and justice and trust. He’d been drained, too, after the awful ordeal of last year’s trial, tear tracks still visible long after his eyes dried and he fell asleep against Maya in the backseat of Edgeworth’s car.  It had made Edgeworth think, just briefly, of what things would be like if he’d stayed in Los Angeles, to always have that gentle, easy trust within reach.

He’d seen Phoenix grumpy on numerous occasions, in fleeting moments at the precinct or after a trial was extended an extra day. He’d even had the opportunity, maybe once or twice, to see Phoenix grumpy over Maya’s abuse of his wallet, squished into a too-small booth with the rest of them. It was enormously endearing, the way Phoenix and Maya would pout at each other like children who weren’t getting their way, as if they weren’t full-grown adults who could buy their own food. Maybe next time he came, he’d mused, he could treat them both to a proper lunch that didn’t involve burgers and fries, for once.

He’d seen Phoenix hurt, the last time he had to say goodbye.

Oh, Edgeworth thought. 

His last trip to the states had ended far sooner than he would have liked. Between his work and Franziska’s injury, he’d had little time to attend to anything but the most important matters. 

The night before, he had Phoenix over for dinner. They discussed work, and their friends, and generally skirted around the fact that they hadn’t seen each other in a full, mutually traumatic year. 

Two glasses of wine and several hours in, Phoenix brought up his fast-approaching departure. He had this wide-eyed expression, a little teary and intensely earnest, and asked if they’d stay in touch this time. Edgeworth valiantly tried to ignore the prickling sensation in his own eyes and assured him that yes, of course they would. 

Just before he left, in the relative closeness of Edgeworth’s foyer, Phoenix had placed a hand on his arm, just above his elbow. His eyes were watery, as before, and much more obvious with their proximity. 

“Edgeworth,” he’d said, smiling sadly. “I’m gonna miss you.” Then, after a long moment, he’d turned and left. 

Edgeworth hadn’t quite managed to say it back, but he’d murmured likewise under his breath and hoped it was enough.

It hadn’t been, he realizes now. 

He flicks on the lights, smarting his already-blurry vision. He fumbles for his reading glasses, because he may be a joyless, sleepless workaholic, but at least he doesn’t ever go to bed with his contacts in. 

Before he knows it, he’s staring at his ticket confirmation, cursor hovering dangerously near the cancellation button.

He stalls. He’d made a hasty decision in coming here, and here he was about to make another? There’s a voice in his head, one he refuses to name, that sneers at him disparagingly. He had a career, for god’s sake; he couldn’t go running off whenever the urge struck him.

And yet, it had been the right decision, hadn’t it? He had helped Phoenix in his time of need, he’d seen with his own two eyes that the most important person in his life hadn’t died on him just yet, and he’d stayed through the aftermath to witness his sister and Phoenix and Larry in the same room (and, much more pleasantly, Franziska’s apparent soft spot for the Fey girls.)

It’s mid-morning in Germany, he thinks deliriously, and opens his email.

To whom it may concern,

I regret to inform you that my family emergency requires more attention than I previously expected. I will be out of the office until further notice. If any matters arise that require my immediate attention, please send them to me via my email.

- Miles Edgeworth 

It’s the most terrible, discourteous email he’s written in his entire life. He hits send and cancels his plane ticket in two consecutive clicks. Laptop shut, light off, glasses returned to his bedside table. Before he’s fully aware of what he’s done, he’s asleep. 

He wakes the next morning to his phone ringing. He regards it blearily, before realizing that the call is from Phoenix and that he’s missed five others just like it. 

“Wright,” he says, in the severest voice he can manage at…

10:35 in the morning. 

His conversation from the previous night comes rushing back, and suddenly he’s wrenching the covers off himself and running for his wardrobe.

“Wright!” He yelps, picking clothes at random. He has no time to bother with his suit today. 

“I am so sorry, Phoenix, I must have overslept.” Without even taking his pajamas off, he hurries through applying deodorant and swallowing all his medications at once. 

“Wha- Edgeworth? Everything okay?” he asks. “We can take the train if something came up,” he adds after a second, and he doesn’t even sound disappointed.

“No! I mean- erm- no. Just let the Fey girls know that I’ll only be a half-hour more.” He remembers Phoenix saying something about the urgency of Maya’s duties, and curses himself. 

“If it’s urgent, however,” he says, trying to slow himself down, “I can cover a cab fare for the three of you instead.”

“Jesus, Edgeworth,” Phoenix mumbles. “That’d cost a fortune. We’re not in that much of a rush.”

Selfishly, he feels relieved. Otherwise, he feels immensely guilty. 

“I’ll let you go now,” he says, pacing circles at the foot of his bed. “I won’t be long. My apologies once again.”

“No problem,” Phoenix replies. “See you soon.” Edgeworth wants nothing more than for him to be upset. He deserves it.

“Alright,” he whispers, but Phoenix has already hung up.

Twenty-five minutes later, he parks in the guest space of Phoenix’s apartment complex. He takes a deep breath before he turns off the car.

“Hello?” he calls, knocking on Phoenix’s door even though it’s already slightly ajar. He wonders if perhaps they left without him, and in their haste to catch the train left the door open. It wouldn’t surprise him.

All of a sudden, Pearl Fey is rushing to open the door for him fully. Edgeworth has never been more relieved to see her.

“Hello, Mr. Edgeworth,” she says solemnly, even though her pronunciation is still a little off. “Would you like some tea? “We’re watching television.”

“Oh, are you?” he asks, because he still has no idea how to talk to children. “What are you watching?” She looks at him a little strangely. Probably not like that, then.

“Well, Mr. Nick and Mystic Maya are watching Steel Samurai. I’m making tea.”

“Of course,” he says weakly. “In that case, then, I would love some tea.”

She’s actually quite good at making it, he decides, sitting at Phoenix’s second hand kitchen table. Much better than Phoenix is. In the next room over, he can hear the overdone special effects of The Steel Samurai and curses himself for knowing exactly which episode they’re watching.

It’s not even a good one, he laments. Maya says something over the television and Phoenix laughs loudly.

“Why were you late this morning?” Pearl asks when she joins Edgeworth, her own cup of tea cradled in her hands. Phoenix’s mugs are obviously from different sets. It pulls on something deep in his chest.

“Terribly sorry,” he says. “I was up late last night and I suppose I overslept.” It’s strange. He can’t remember the last time he overslept. And just when it mattered most, as well.

“What were you doing?” She asks, gazing up at him with wide eyes.

“I- er- I was working.”

Pearl nods solemnly. “Mr. Nick says you work too much.”

Edgeworth, who is in the middle of sipping his tea, nearly chokes.

“Oh no!” she cries. “Did I say something wrong?”
 
“No, no,” he splutters, trying to catch his breath. “Merely unexpected. Did he really say that?”

“What’s going on?” Phoenix asks, leaning in the doorway much more casually than he did the night before. “What’d I say?”

Edgeworth is struck by a rib-breaking feeling at the sight, and he bites his tongue to stay under control. Phoenix is beautiful, even like this, in a casual t-shirt and faded jeans, even when the pervasive feeling of wrongness still hangs in the air.

“That I work too much,” he sighs weakly. “Hello, Wright.”

“Well, you do,” Phoenix shrugs back. “When did you get here, by the way? You could’ve watched some Steel Samurai with Maya and I.”

“Fortunately for me, I was being entertained by the only member of your household with a sense of hospitality,” he replies, letting himself relax with the normalcy of their banter. “Miss Fey picked a terrible episode for you to watch.”

“Aw, lay off, Edgeworth,” Maya says, appearing in the doorway beside Phoenix. “Nick only watches with me if we can make fun of it together.”

“I see,” he says, because with all three of them there he suddenly feels like a stranger in a stranger’s house. Maybe he is. “I apologize again for being late. Shall we go now?”

“Sounds good,” Phoenix says cheerily. “Bye guys!” Something sinks in Edgeworth’s gut.

“You’re not coming?” This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. He hopes doesn’t sound desperate. He wonders if he doesn’t sound desperate enough. 
 
“Nah,” Phoenix says with that same forced calm from before. The weight in Edgeworth’s gut squirms. “Somebody’s gotta watch the office.”

“C’mon, Nick,” Maya whines. “You promised you’d come with us.”

“No, I didn’t,” he bites back. “I promised I’d ask Edgeworth to drive, like you wanted.”

Edgeworth feels like he shouldn’t be witness to this conversation. He wonders if it’s too late to call the Feys a cab.

“That’s basically the same thing.” Maya rolls her eyes. “Back me up here, Pearly.”
 
“She’s right, Mr. Nick. Mr. Edgeworth is your friend and you should come with us to Kurain,” Pearl says, crossing her arms indignantly. Phoenix looks a little uneasy.

“He’s my friend too,” Maya adds, moving closer to bump her elbow against Edgeworth’s. “But Pearl’s right.”

“Circular logic,” Phoenix mumbles, narrowing his eyes.
 
“If Wright has other work to do,” Edgeworth cuts in, “then he can stay behind as he wishes.” Maya nudges him again, more insistently. He ignores her.

“However,” he adds, clutching his elbow hard enough to bruise, “his presence will be sorely missed.” He hopes he can start his apology early, this way.

“Oh,” Phoenix says, finally caught a little off-guard. “Fine. I’ll come.”

The four of them trudge down the stairs to Edgeworth’s car. He notices that the Feys have no bags with them, but remembers that their trip down to Los Angeles was as unexpected as his own.

“Back seat, Pearly!” Maya calls, opening the door behind Edgeworth’s own. Phoenix sighs under his breath and takes the front passenger seat.

“Do you have an aux cord?” Maya asks excitedly. “I bet your speakers are so nice.” Phoenix groans. Edgeworth is a little scared to find out her music taste.

“I only have the radio,” he says apologetically, which feels like an excuse even though it’s true. He reaches over to fiddle with the knob, settling on a random station.

“You’re boring,” she says, but soon distracts herself with a phone game.

Maya carries most of the conversation for the first half of the car ride, and Edgeworth spends his time tuning it out. It still feels too private, somehow, like it’s something he’s not supposed to be a part of, because when he dares glance over at Phoenix as he laughs, he flattens his expression back down.

A glance in the rearview mirror shows that Maya notices too. He turns the radio up a little bit louder.

Nearly two hours later, he is making the final turns up the winding road into Kurain. The car has long since fallen into relative quiet. Edgeworth is fairly certain that both Phoenix and Pearl are asleep. 

“Hey, Mr. Edgeworth,” Maya says. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“I’m not leaving just yet,” he says, so that he can say it to someone. “The country, that is.”

“Really?” She replies, leaning forward. “Nick said you left tomorrow.” Phoenix shifts, a little too much to be inconspicuous, and Edgeworth realizes he probably wasn’t asleep after all.

He nods stiffly.

“Anyway,” she continues. “I won’t be able to see you for a while because of all this bullshit with the village, so I’ll miss you anyway.”

Pearl, miraculously, wakes up just in time to admonish Maya for swearing. Perhaps she wasn't asleep either.

 “I understand, and I wish you the best of luck with your duties,” he says, focusing on the gravel road ahead of him. “...And I regret that I was not able to see you more on this trip.”

 Phoenix is looking at him now. It’s unnerving.

 “We’re here,” Edgeworth says, before he’s even stopped the car. He parks at the entrance to Fey Manor and gets out. The rest of his passengers follow suit, and he and Phoenix trade off on saying their goodbyes to Maya and Pearl without speaking to each other once. 

 “I think we’d best be heading back,” Phoenix says with an exaggerated stretch. Then, he bends down and stage whispers to Pearl, “If we make it back to LA in time, I can make Mr. Edgeworth buy me lunch.”

 It’s not such a bad idea, Edgeworth thinks, if we make it through the return trip alive.

 “Bye, Mr. Nick!” Pearl waves politely “And Mr. Edgeworth. Thank you for driving us home.”

 “It’s my pleasure, Pearl,” he says. Maybe he’s getting the hang of talking to children.

 “Oh, wait!” Pearl cries, as Edgeworth is about to climb back into his car. He turns, and she pulls him back to where she and Maya were standing. She tugs him down further so that he is bent to her height. She’s very strong despite her size, Edgeworth realizes grimly.

 “If you hurt Mr. Nick’s feelings again, Mystic Maya says I’m allowed to punch you,” she whispers, glaring at him.

  “I will not,” he says, and even though he is sincere, he also says it because he doesn’t want to be prematurely punched. “I hope that later today, I can apologize for hurting him before.”

 “Good,” says Maya, from right behind him. “You’d better.”

 If this is their normal behavior, Edgeworth thinks idly, then I would hate to see their idea of a shovel talk.

 “Well,” he says, more nervously than before. “I best be on with it, then.”

 Maya laughs. “We’re only messing with you, Mr. Edgeworth.”

 Pearl’s face stays the same. “No we’re not.” Then, her expression brightens into a polite smile. “Goodbye, Mr. Edgeworth!”

 Maybe he was premature in his judgment. He will never understand children as long as he lives.

 “Goodbye,” he says, and then makes an about-face to return to his car.

 “What did they say?” Phoenix asks, just when Edgeworth is sure he’s safe.

 “They threatened to kill me,” he says, because he is apparently a terrible liar. “If I didn’t come back to visit them,” he adds, because he’s not that terrible.

 “Sounds like them,” Phoenix laughs, but it doesn’t sound as full as when the Feys were in the car. Awkward silence descends on them both.

     "Well then," Edgeworth says, "Shall we go?" It's a completely asinine thing to say, he realizes.

     Phoenix seems to agree, if the flat look he shoots back is any indication. "You're driving," he replies.

     "I know." He puts the car in motion.

     Edgeworth feels wrong-footed, lost, and Phoenix hasn't even done anything. Maybe that's the problem. Lively, sun-bright Phoenix is sitting as still as a statue beside him, taking in the forested scenery surrounding Kurain with little more than vague disinterest. It makes him feel like the very ground beneath him is becoming unsteady. It should be, by now, a familiar feeling, and yet it doesn't get any easier to handle.

     He leaves the radio off in a fit of unfettered optimism, hoping that he'll think of something to say soon enough. Barely five minutes into the drive, however, Phoenix reaches over and fiddles with the knobs. Grating pop music fills the car, but Edgeworth makes no move to change it. His eagerness to set things to rights curdles and sours into dread.

     "Turn off here," Phoenix says, somewhere about halfway down the mountain.

     "What?" Edgeworth asks, because he's been too busy stewing in his own anxiety for the better part of an hour to even pay attention to where they are.

     "There's a sign for a gas station at the next exit, and I'm starving.”

     Somehow, this is not what he envisioned when he thought of treating Phoenix to lunch. He takes the exit without complaint regardless.

     The convenience store they pull up to, if it can even be called that, is easily the saddest building Edgeworth has seen in his life. The roof, shingled with muddy-looking brown tiles, sags slightly in the middle. The weathered exterior was probably once a deep forest green, but is now sun-bleached to the color of pea soup. It has one window, right next to the single gas pump, with unintelligible writing on it.

     "Alright," Edgeworth says. "Shall we go in?"

     Phoenix looks at him a little quizzically, and steps out of the car.

     "You sure you don't want to wait in the car?" Phoenix asks, deeply unimpressed, but Edgeworth cannot tell if it's with him or with the state of the shop. "You might get tetanus from this place."

     "And what about you?" Edgeworth grumbles back. "You're tetanus-proof now, too?"

     "I'm vaccinated," Phoenix replies proudly.

     "So am I!" he replies indignantly. It's not until Phoenix is laughing that he realizes how stupid they sound.

     "Oh my god," Phoenix wheezes. "Fine then. Be my guest." He tries to open the door, and it sticks.

     "Sonofabitch," he grumbles, leaning against the door with more force. This time, it opens, a rusty little bell jingling to signal their arrival.

     The store, despite its looks, is apparently open, because the singular clerk at the counter looks up from his magazine to call a halfhearted greeting. Phoenix beelines for the aisle full of chips and other packaged snacks, leaving Edgeworth to contemplate between buying an overripe banana or a sad-looking muffin. By the time he's resigned himself to just buying a bottled drink instead, Phoenix is already paying for his own things. Edgeworth leaves the store empty-handed.

     "I was planning on paying for that," he huffs, sliding back into his seat. Phoenix, already halfway through a bag of potato chips, regards him with narrowed eyes. The sound of gravel under his tires scrapes against his ears as he pulls back onto the main road.

     "Why?"

     "That's what you wanted, was it not?"

     Phoenix scoffs. "I can handle it myself."

     Edgeworth makes a face. "What is wrong with you today?" he snipes, because it comes so much more easily to him than worry.

     "Me?" Phoenix replies, a little louder, a little more heated. This is normal for them, Edgeworth realizes. It's all he can do. It hurts. "What's wrong with you, huh?"

     "Whatever do you mean?" he says thinly.

     "You told me you were leaving." Phoenix sounds truly angry. 

Finally, Edgeworth thinks. Be upset with me. It’s what I deserve.

     "I... canceled my flight," he says instead.

     Phoenix says nothing in return.

     "You- erm- you seemed... off." Even to his own ears, he sounds pathetic.

     "I'm fine," Phoenix says tonelessly.

     "That's just it," Edgeworth replies. "After the ordeal you just went through, I would expect you to be anything but fine. The last time I left, you were anything but fine, and now-"

     "Oh, so it's about you, Edgeworth?" Phoenix snarls.

     "That's not what I meant. You know that's not what I meant."

     "Then what did you mean?" He still sounds angry, but it has started to decay into frustration, to genuine confusion. His gaze is searching, now, mismatched eyes wide and serious.

     "I- I've hurt you before," he says, eyes glued to the road ahead. "And now I think I'm hurting you again."

     "By staying or by leaving?" Phoenix’s voice is almost too quiet to make out. Edgeworth wonders if he was even meant to hear it.

     "Either," he falters. Not for the first time, he wonders if he’s made the right decision. "Both."

     "Maybe," Phoenix says, sounding as drained as Edgeworth feels, "I'm tired of running after you all the time."

     When Edgeworth last returned to Europe, he and Phoenix had kept their promise to stay in touch. They talked about once per week, either by text or by call, filling each other in on the minutiae of their lives. Phoenix usually initiated these conversations, calling out of the blue at inconvenient hours or sending his unfiltered thoughts over text. Edgeworth did his best to reciprocate, then, because it was important. Phoenix was important, in a way he couldn't, or wouldn't dare verbalize.

But he never got used to reaching out first, and before he even realized, their contact had fallen to once a month, if that. It gnawed a hole in his chest, filling the space with a fuzzy, listless feeling of longing. Maybe Phoenix had been tired for longer than he realized. Maybe they both had been.

     "I'm sorry," he says into the empty air. Phoenix turns the radio back on.

     They complete their journey down the mountain in silence. The dread which threatened to strangle Edgeworth earlier collapses and dies, leaving him with the ghost of despair. He considers the logistics of booking a new flight, of extending his hotel stay, of faking his death again, because it feels like all he has left.

He’d been waiting for this chance to set things right with Phoenix, had been thinking of nothing but that since the night before, and now he wonders if their friendship is ending for good. The very thought pains him, not in the dull, bruising ache of grief, but sharply, like he’s being stabbed in the chest.

     By the time he turns onto Phoenix's street, he's exhausted. He's unused to driving such long distances; in Europe he prefers to take the train. He pulls into the very same guest parking spot he did earlier, nearly four hours ago. It feels years away.

     "Thanks for doing this, Edgeworth," Phoenix says once he's gotten out of the car. "You really didn't have to." Edgeworth wonders which part Phoenix is talking about.

     "I wanted to," he replies quietly, because he asked for this and now they're both suffering the consequences.

     With an awkward nod, Phoenix shuts the door, and Edgeworth lets his head hit the steering wheel.

     Phoenix's voice plays in his head, and he lets himself turn the words over in his mind, as if he hasn't been doing that for the last two hours.

     Maybe I'm tired of running after you all the time.

    Edgeworth stills. Maybe he's reading between the lines where there are none, but he's come too far to turn back now.

    "Phoenix!" he calls, sprinting down the concrete path that connects the various buildings in the apartment complex. "Wait!"

     Phoenix turns, wide eyed, and stops. Edgeworth nearly runs into him. In a sudden moment of bravery, he places his hands loosely on Phoenix's arms, just above the elbow. It's almost like a hug, as much of one as he dares. He collects himself, just barely.

     "Now who's running after who?" he laughs breathlessly. He may just be a bit delirious.

     "Edgeworth, what-"

     "Come to lunch with me," he says. "I think I owe you something better than gas station chips."

     Phoenix stiffens, just a little, under his grasp. Edgeworth lets him go.

     "What do you mean?" he asks, voice quiet. He's staring down at Edgeworth's now clasped hands.

     "I mean that... I hate to see you this way. I hate that it's my fault, and that I don't know what to say to make it better." They're both looking towards the ground now.

     "So maybe I can't say anything," he sighs, "but I'm here now, and if you'll have me, I want to be there for you just as often as you've been there for me. So... therefore... lunch." It's a lame ending, perhaps to a lame speech, but he hopes the words don't matter so much anymore.

     "How long are you staying for?" Phoenix asks, voice just this side of breaking. He might be looking at Edgeworth's face now. He's still building up the courage to check.

     "I... am not sure. I don't know how much vacation time I have saved up, but I'll use it all if I have to. I have already informed my employers that my family emergency, as it were, requires me to be here."

 He thinks he’s finally done something right, not only because of the weight suddenly evaporating from his chest, but because of the brilliant grin he receives in return. 

     "Miles," Phoenix says, a million different emotions in his voice. Edgeworth tips his head up to look him in the eyes, and he thinks that maybe things will turn out okay after all. 

Then Phoenix leans forward, just a little, and Edgeworth meets him in an embrace. He’s intensely warm, maybe a little feverish still, but Miles finds that it unthaws the last tendrils of anxiety that curl in his stomach, and finally they recede. Phoenix is gripping the back of his sweater like a lifeline, and he holds on just as tightly.

 “I missed you so much, Phoenix,” he says quietly. “The flight here… I thought I’d lost you for good.” He tries his best to hold his voice steady, but his eyes are watering and towards the end it breaks.

 Phoenix hums, squeezing him even tighter for just a moment.

 “Can’t get rid of me that easily,” he smiles into his shoulder. “I like this sweater, by the way. It’s soft.” Edgeworth pulls back a little to regard his outfit for perhaps the first time that day. He’s wearing a knit maroon sweater over a grey undershirt and black slacks. It’s not an outfit he would have ever worn out like this, but he can’t help but feel that it might suit him.

“Yes, I… was in a rush this morning, as you know,” he admits. “I didn’t have time to dress as I normally do.” Phoenix laughs. 

“When you didn’t show up right at ten, I almost called Gumshoe to break down your door and make sure you hadn’t been, like, kidnapped or something.”

Edgeworth rolls his eyes fondly. “Don’t even say that,” he huffs. “In our line of work? It’s more than likely.”

“Yeah, yeah. When’s the last time you overslept like that?”

“Not in recent memory. I had trouble falling asleep last night.”

Phoenix furrows his brows. “Did I scare you that badly?” he asks, fiddling absently with the bottom hem of Miles’s sweater.

“Yes,” he says seriously.

Phoenix smiles, tiny and unsure. “You’re sweet. I’m sorry I worried you, though.”

“Think nothing of it,” he replies. “I’m simply glad we resolved the issue eventually.”

He still looks a little unsure, red in the face and fidgeting. That simply won’t do, Edgeworth thinks. Quickly, too quickly for his nerves to sneak back in, he leans forward and presses a kiss to Phoenix’s temple.

“Now, Phoenix,” he says, and Phoenix shudders a little under his touch. “I believe I still owe you… a very late lunch, but we don’t have to do that now. What would you like?”

“I’d like you to keep calling me Phoenix,” he murmurs, seemingly dumbstruck. “And, uh… I don’t know. Maybe we can do dinner instead?” 

Edgeworth grins. “Dinner, then. On one condition.”

Phoenix hums contentedly, his sappy smile growing in return. “Yeah? What is it?”

“You must call me Miles, then.”

“Deal,” Phoenix says, and then kisses him properly. 

They make their way back to Phoenix’s apartment first. It’s a rather drawn-out journey, given that they refuse to let go of each other and keep getting distracted.

“I have neighbors, you know,” Phoenix says, for once the reasonable one, though his giddy grin betrays his severity. Miles, who is trying his hardest to disappear into the crook of his shoulder, only groans. 

“You’re one to talk,” he scowls, even though Phoenix can’t see it. “As if you didn’t kiss me in front of all your supposed neighbors just a moment ago.”

“You had me all emotional back there. It doesn’t count,” Phoenix replies, poking Edgeworth’s shoulder in a cheap imitation of his courtroom gestures. He pushes him back, just a little, so they can climb the stairs to Phoenix’s building at last. 

Milse doesn’t reply, but at the top of the stairs he takes Phoenix’s hand, a soft smile on his face. They make it to the apartment without further incident, and he realizes that he’s never been to Phoenix’s home before earlier today. It suits him, Miles thinks. He’d been too nervous that morning to really take in his surroundings, but as he and Phoenix untie their shoes he has a chance to look around.

The front entry opens to a small dining area with a table just big enough for three to squeeze in. The mugs that he and Pearl drank out of are still there, along with what appears to be her artwork that he didn’t notice before. 

This room also contains the kitchen, which is serviceable but less well-loved than the table, with off-white laminate counters and slightly ugly backsplash. There’s a chair pushed up against the cabinets, likely from Pearl making tea earlier, and an open cabinet above that houses mismatched, colorful mugs.

“You okay?” Phoenix asks, leaning against Edgeworth from behind. His arms snake around his waist and his nose brushes the short hair on Miles’s neck. 

“Perfectly well,” he says, and means it. “Lead the way.”

Phoenix instead pushes Miles forward, making no attempt to even look where he’s going. Miles huffs amusedly, moving around the table and pulling Phoenix with him.

“Since you’re not going to lead after all,” he says fondly, “where are we going?”

“Living room,” Phoenix mumbles back. “I’m exhausted.”

“That makes two of us.” He steers them both through the doorway that leads to the living room. It’s cozy, with a soft-looking brown couch and an irregularly-patterned armchair that doesn’t quite match and several photos hung up on the wall above it. Miles recognizes the three Feys in various pictures; there’s one of Mia with Phoenix, who is wearing that truly horrendous sweater, and several of him, Maya, and Pearl. There’s even one with Larry, and one with Gumshoe, and…

There’s two that even feature him. The first is a childhood photo, one that Miles’s own father took. Phoenix is in the middle, one hand holding a red popsicle that’s melting onto his fingers. Larry is to the right, grinning madly with an orange popsicle of his own. To the other side is himself, more subdued but with a small smile on his face. It had been a hot summer day, and though Miles had insisted that he didn’t want a popsicle, Phoenix had shared his with him anyway. In that photo, just out of frame, they were holding hands.

The second he recognizes, because Gumshoe had emailed it to him after it was taken. It was the picture taken after Phoenix defended him in that fateful trial several years ago. Both of them looked positively exhausted, and Miles was barely smiling, but there was confetti in his hair and a huge banner celebrating his innocence. He wonders, just briefly, how he could have ever thought his family didn’t care about him.

“Miles?” Phoenix murmurs, finally realizing that they’ve stopped. 

“Apologies,” Edgeworth replies. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in here.”

Phoenix shrugs. “I guess not. Now come lay down with me.”

The instruction is a bit misleading, because Phoenix guides him into laying down first on the couch. It’s even softer than it looks, and he sinks into it a little more than he strictly would have liked. He sinks even further into the cushions when Phoenix follows suit and lays on top of him. It’s a bit like being bundled up in every blanket he owns, Miles muses, except that instead of stifling him the weight is soothing. He reaches up and wraps his arms around Phoenix, one hand settling in the dip of his spine and the other tracing patterns into his shoulder blades.

 “Wanna watch TV?” Phoenix asks, eyes closed and face slack with content.

 “So long as we are not making fun of the program this time,” Edgeworth says, rolling his eyes, though he cannot deny the tiny flare of anxiety at the thought.

 “‘Course not. I only do that with Maya. The DVD’s still in, though, if you want to watch Steel Samurai.” He lazily shifts one arm so that it’s under Edgeworth’s neck.

 It’s not a good season, Miles thinks, remembering the last episode that was playing. He realizes, though, that Phoenix isn’t really watching anyway, so he grabs the remote and turns it on. It starts from where it last left off, partway through the closing credits of the one Maya and Phoenix were watching earlier

 Miles isn’t sure how much time passes like that, which would ordinarily worry him, but he realizes that he has nothing scheduled for the foreseeable future for the first time in… years. Even when he’d left the country with nothing but his suitcase and a half-formed death wish, he’d made a plan for what he’d do when he landed, and for every day after that. The expanse of free, unstructured time ahead of him might seem more daunting when he gets up, but for the moment, Phoenix’s comforting weight on top of him kept the nauseous uncertainty at bay. 

 Phoenix, who Edgeworth had previously suspected to be asleep, shoots up a few minutes later, a slightly bewildered look on his face. 

 “Phoenix, darling?” he asks, sitting up to meet his eye, before he realizes the pet name that just came out of his mouth. He must be more tired than he thought. But it seems to break Phoenix’s trance, and he remembers how to breathe. 

 “Holy shit,” Phoenix says. He’s relaxed, just a bit, but there’s still a tension in the way he holds himself. “Holy shit, Miles, you’re staying,” he repeats, almost to himself, in a whisper.

 Instantly, Miles finds himself on edge. “Yes?” he replies. His nerves are starting to creep back in, running goosebumps up his arms. “Is that still alright?”

 “Fuck.” Phoenix’s voice breaks, but when his eyes meet Miles’s, he’s smiling. “It’s just hitting me now. You’re here.”

 Miles’s heart, on the other hand, is weeping for him all over again. 

 “God,” he whispers, because he can’t even contain the thought. “It’s a wonder you still want me at all. I’ve been out of your life more than I’ve been in it, at this point.” It’s hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice, because Phoenix has given him so much and he couldn't even promise his presence in return.

 “Not true,” Phoenix laughs, a little wetly. “I thought about you every day.”

 Miles hugs him then, pulls him as close as possible to make up for the distance of the last year, the last two years, the last seventeen. “I missed you, too,” he says, and he doesn’t just mean the days when he couldn’t bring himself to pick up the phone and call Phoenix back. “So much.”

 Phoenix hums an acknowledgement, and starts crying in earnest into the soft fabric of Miles’s sweater. He puts one hand into Phoenix’s hair, gently running his fingers through the spikes. He’s drawing a blank of what to say, once again, and hopes the soothing motion is enough for now.

 “I think I missed you before I even knew you were leaving,” Phoenix admits, slightly muffled by his position, but Edgeworth freezes like he’s been struck.

 “Oh,” he says, because suddenly his behavior of the last two days makes so much more sense. “Oh, Phoenix.” 

 “It’s alright, really!” Phoenix laughs, but there are still tears running down his face.

 “It’s not.” Miles grips Phoenix even tighter, if it were possible. “You know I can’t stay forever.” He wants to. God he wants to. But… “My studies in Europe aren’t finished, and I have a job… Are you sure you want this?” They seem like flimsier excuses here, and now, practically cradling his favorite person in the world in his lap.

 “I know,” Phoenix sighs, a little more subdued. “But you’re here now, and you’re going to  be for a little while at least, right?”

 Edgeworth nods fervently, because he’d hang the moon for Phoenix if he asked, but a few weeks of his time is the best he can give him for the moment.

 Phoenix leans back to press a quick kiss to his temple. “And after that, we’ll figure it out. Now stop catastrophizing so I can go back to my nap,” he grins, eyes still red but filled with affectionate warmth.

Miles rolls his eyes but obliges him with a smile, leaning back so they can lay down again. Phoenix sighs, content, and reaches his arms up to clasp around his neck. The television is still playing, now part way through another mediocre episode. He scoffs.

“What?” Phoenix asks teasingly. “I thought you liked this show.”

“Ms. Fey put on the absolute worst season-”

“It’s funny!”

Miles glares at him, though the effect is lost by how he has to cross his eyes just to focus at such a close distance. “I don’t know what Manella was thinking.”

Phoenix pulls a face. “Ugh, Sal Manella made this season? No wonder it sucks.”

Rolling his eyes again, Miles sighs. “Regardless of my… personal opinions on Sal Manella, he did, unfortunately, make some good television. This was not one such instance.”

When he looks up again, Phoenix is smiling at him, looking like he was part way to melting into a puddle.

“What?” He asks, indignant.

“You’re such a dork,” Phoenix says, already closing his eyes and laying back down on Miles’s chest. “It’s cute.”

Miles huffs, but doesn’t contest it, choosing to wrap his arms around Phoenix instead.

He intended to rest his eyes for only a moment, he swore. However, as he blinks the sleep away, he realizes it’s been much longer than that. The sun, which had been filtering through Phoenix’s big windows, is now long gone, and the only light in the room comes from the TV. It's displaying the Steel Samurai menu screen; apparently it had run through the whole season while he slept.

Phoenix is still on top of him, fast asleep, and he takes a moment to let warm, cozy affection for his partner wash over him. Edgeworth stills. Were they partners? He furrows his brows. A voice, which sounds suspiciously like Phoenix, reminds him that they’d figure it out, together, and he lets it go for the moment

He attempts to check the time on his wristwatch, but the movement causes Phoenix to stir, stretching as best he can while still balanced on top of Edgeworth.

“Hello, Phoenix,” Miles says warmly. “It appears we overslept.”

Phoenix groans. “What time..?”

Without the fear of disturbing him, Miles is able to check his watch. “Almost nine,” he frowns.

Phoenix hums. “A little late to go out for dinner,” he says.

Miles shrugs. “Another time, then.”

“I like the sound of that. I’m starving, though. Do you want… leftover pasta?”

“That sounds wonderful right now,” he says, and somehow he means it.

 Phoenix scoffs, like he’s spotted the same contradiction. “What’d you do with my Miles?” he says, but kisses his cheek anyway before standing up. “He wouldn’t eat anything unless it came from a Michelin star restaurant.” 

 “I’m surprised you even know what that is,” Miles teases back, accepting the hand up from Phoenix to follow him.

 “Hey! I watch cooking shows!” He grins. “One of these days I’ll cook something so good you never want to order takeout again.”

 “And then you’ll be stuck having to cook?” Miles retorts, leaning against the counter while Phoenix reheated the leftovers.

 “Nah,” Phoenix scoffs. “You’ll just be unhappy every time we get takeout.”

 Miles rolls his eyes instead of dignifying Phoenix’s ridiculous jab with an answer. “You’re lucky I love you,” he says instead, before realizing it was his first time saying it out loud.

 Phoenix, luckily, does not seem even slightly off-put, instead turning to face him with a wonderstruck expression.

 “Miles,” he whispers. “I love you too.” He crosses the kitchen in three long strides and captures Miles’s face gently in a kiss. They are still kissing, in fact, when Miles starts to smell something burning.

 “Phoenix!” he says, pulling away. Phoenix blinks, blissfully confused, until he too smells the smoke.

 “Shit!”

 “Miles,” Phoenix says, breaking the comfortable silence that fell upon them as they ate. The food is slightly burnt, but not terribly so, and as much as Phoenix teased him before, Miles isn’t a complete snob.

 “Mh,” replies Miles, halfway through a too-big bite of spaghetti..

 “Are you staying somewhere? I mean, you said you only canceled your plane ticket last night and-”

 “Shit,” he curses under his breath, because in his sleep-deprived haze he did not think to book a longer stay at his current hotel.

 “I mean, it’s totally fine if you don’t want to, y’know,” Phoenix says, a little hesitant. “But your very handsome boyfriend lives in the city and he has an apartment he’s willing to share. Only if you want! Otherwise I could help you find somewhere else to stay, and… Miles?” 

Miles is too busy having his entire nervous system narrowed on the sensation of boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend running through him to realize Phoenix is still talking.

“You mean it?” he asks. “I could stay here?”

“Of course!” Phoenix replies cheerfully. “You can sleep with me.”

There’s a full five seconds of silence before the implication catches up with him, and he flushes as red as the pasta sauce. Miles, still sleep-addled, starts laughing, and he finds that he didn’t have it in him to stop. Soon, Phoenix joins him, and for a while they say nothing as they struggle to catch their hiccupping breaths.

“Was that…” Gasps Miles, face ruddy and still giggling.

“An innuendo?” Phoenix finishes for him, slightly more composed but still grinning. “I didn’t mean for it to be.” He looks away, flushed, and says, “It could be, though. If you wanted it to.”

This is not the height of romance Miles pictured. Somehow, though, it’s better. Warmth settles in his chest, a sensation that is quickly growing familiar. 

“We have time to figure that out,” he says, voice overflowing with affection. He reaches over the table for Phoenix’s hand, running his thumb over rough knuckles.

 Phoenix looks back at him, in the dim light of the kitchen, like he managed to hang the moon after all. “We have time,” he whispers back.