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I remember when I was nine years old, I personally made you shine. How I, according to you, lit a fire in you.
We were children; it was an exaggeration, I know it now. But then I couldn't help but think that I helped awaken the phoenix in you, even though it was just a one-word scream, but from what you told me, it changed your life inside and out.
I don't know if you're happy about it now. I don't know if you would like me to shut my mouth then. So that you continue to study as before, and never know a boy named Miles Edgeworth beyond the name and place of the desk.
You listened so attentively to my stories about my father and the law, you smiled so brightly that I wanted to study and learn more and more, if only you would stay like this longer. You told me I light up when I talk about it. You were right, but only half. Your fire nearby touched me too.
I'm pretty sure that the moment we met fifteen years later, a flame flared up behind you. Otherwise, I cannot explain why my gaze kept returning to you, as if you were something unbelievable and impossible.
Your fire saved and burned me at the same time.
It burned everything I had believed in for so long. It burned me so much that at some point I thought it was the end. It puffed up so much that it was scary, and I left, then sure that it was forever.
But then I realized that it only pulls you. That it did not burn, but warmed me. That your flame does not frighten, but bewitches.
Then I internally promised that I would keep your fire, no matter what happens. That you will always be Phoenix.
And I returned. One, two times. Listening to you deliberately walk into the fire, as if convinced it couldn't burn itself, was terrifying. Listening to your hoarse, weak voice, extinguished by water, was painful. Holding your cold, shivering hand was strange. Kissing your wet forehead while you were sleeping was wrong.
It was ridiculous of me to hope that I could continue this. That I can constantly come back and go right after you shine strong enough to touch me. It was frighteningly warm, wildly right. But I thought I shouldn't be here.
You appear to have thought otherwise. That I am worthy of your fire, worthy of being surrounded by your invisible fiery wings.
It's a pity we learned each other's opinions too late for this knowledge to be useful.
I was in Europe when I found out. Part of me resented that you didn't tell me. The other part blamed itself for not being around.
You didn't answer no matter how many times I called you a day. I compared time zones and tried to find the most correct time, although I knew that it did not matter. Nothing worked.
I prayed that you wouldn't burn out the way you could.
I arrived as early as possible and immediately went to you; It felt like I knocked on your apartment for two hours straight until you opened the door.
Your face was unreadable. I didn't know if you were angry or surprised. Or maybe the fact that I was distracted by your new image prevented me from understanding.
Your first words to me were growling get out of here.
My first word to you was no.
I will remember this evening forever: every word you shouted, every insult spat out of your mouth. Your words that when you told me that you didn't want to see me again, you meant it.
The worst thing was that I knew you were lying.
I knew, like on a spiritual level, that your flames directed at me were fake.
I let you yell whatever you wanted. Let your desire burn me enough to make me run away be an attempt.
I saw you almost break.
The only thing that stopped you was that it was time to pick up your new daughter from school. You were late and I had a car. This offer was the only one you agreed to in the whole conversation.
We rode in silence; each of us had information worth considering. There was enough time before the school arrived for me to get used to the fact that you are now a father. It was too much like you to think about it anymore.
We left exactly at the moment when a child ran from school to you. Trucy Gramarye, you said. I heard you stumble over that last name.
For the first time in a day, I saw you smile. For the first time in a day, the flames around you began to warm, not burn. Listening to the two of you giggling in each other's arms was surprisingly comforting. You kissed her on the forehead and looked at her like she was your world. She was, maybe. She looked at you the same way.
I almost wanted to leave so you were alone when Trucy paid attention to me, and you only seemed to remember me.
«This is Edgeworth. My…friend.»
This was the beginning. Or the end, rather.
When you left for work and I stayed with her, she asked me how I feel about you adopting her soon. How do I feel about the fact that she, according to her, put out your fire.
I knew it was none of my business and that it was up to you two to decide. And I told her this.
But I added that, in my opinion, she only helps to re-ignite your flame.
Apparently this was the correct answer.
It was the only week in a year that you didn't ignore me. I felt that some of this was due to Trucy. For some reason, she was drawn to me, and I would be lying if I said that I did not want to get along with her.
But as soon as I leave, you again ignore my calls.
I knew that not only mine. I listened to Franziska's outrage as she complained to me about you leaving calls unanswered. I read Gumshoe's feelings that you don't open the door for him. I've been getting letters from Maya saying you're ignoring her.
And for some reason, at the end, everyone said that they hoped for me. They asked for my help. It's like I'm not calling you every ten hours hoping for an answer.
Anyway, at night I hear a ring on my phone. I was too sleepy to see who was calling.
«Miles Edgeworth speaking.»
And on the back of the call is ten-year-old Trucy Wright from her father's phone asking to come.
And there at the same hour issued tickets to Los Angeles.
It really didn't do anything. You were still snapping no matter how hard I tried, but you softened a bit when I started mentioning that Trucy was worried about you.
We agreed to call every two weeks so that I know that it's not all bad.
I also gave my phone number to Trucy in case you decide to keep quiet.
Six months later, during such calls, I say that I need your help. That I'll buy you and Trucy tickets to me.
You both need a rest, I almost said, I want to see your shine so much.
I want to see you so much.
«...Please.»
You agree after two calls.
We agreed for one month. Given the opportunity, I would insist on all three. But I know how hard it was for you to have just one.
You felt noticeably worse than when we first met. Even having Trucy around doesn't help as much as it used to.
In the first week, you broke two glasses and one plate.
I know you are on purpose. I know this is your way of making me hate you. You come into my room and tell me about it and I know that your shame shown to me must be fake. But it turns out that your glimpse of a confident smirk is.
I shrug lightly and say it's okay. You objectively cost more than a dozen sets of dishes.
You stutter and get angry. I don't know why you think such a small thing would be enough for me to give you up. Nothing will be enough. My door is loudly closed by you and it's amazing that I can hear your angry footsteps for another ten seconds.
The next week, you switch to constant insults and snaps.
I hear you stuttering and I see you avoiding your eyes, I feel that your fire is fake. I'd rather die than say you could purposely hurt someone. You can not. I know you. Not when I'm trying to help you.
In the third week, you break down.
In the third week, when Trucy is hanging out with Franziska and your attempt at throwing in an insult doesn't work, you start screaming. Growling, pulling hair, trembling.
You scream that you hate me so much. You scream that you are so tired. You scream that you're so hopeless. You ask me why I don't hate you.
«How could I?»
And you start crying.
That evening we talked until late into the night. Until the very night you told me what happened during these two years. You told me this is the first time you cry in front of someone in six years. The first time you allow yourself to show weakness.
That evening, I wanted to hug you so badly. Hold you in my hands and say that everything will be fine, that I'm here. But we are no longer nine years old.
You fall asleep with tears on my shoulder.
The next day, we go to the investigation for the first time, when your mask of rudeness is removed. When you let the fake fire put out and make room for the real one. When you really take it seriously.
There is no better moment than the moment when those sparks appear in your eyes for the first time in two years. There is nothing better than hearing your bright, confident voice with a smile. There is nothing better than when you become Phoenix.
I translate your words to the researchers, and when I look at you one more time, you let a self-confident smirk appear on your face. I couldn't be happier.
I will do my best to rekindle this fire.
I see you off at the airport and you both look on edge. Trucy squeezes me with all the strength of an eleven-year-old child and almost inaudibly asks if she will see me again. The word "yes" then was one of the most confident words I've ever spoken in my entire life.
You shrink. You avoid my eyes and it's like you're trying to disappear. You bite your lip and I can almost hear your I'm sorry.
«See you, Wright.»
You look at my outstretched hand as something mystical. As if the hand had not been hanging in the air since our very first meeting. As if your hand was not in the same position four years ago.
You weakly grab my hand with yours.
«...See you.»
I wish you knew the significance of your name. I wish you could see your glow in my eyes.
But you don't look at them. And I don't know if I would let you.
Not now.
I know there will be many more trips like this back and forth. Anything to wake up your flame.
Anything to keep you happy.