Archive of Our Own

EVERYTHING IS GOING TO PLAN

FUCK

SHIT

NONONONONNONOON NOT THE WINE

OW

FUCKING PISS

WHAT’S BLOOD AND WHAT’S WINE?? 

…

Fuck he’s here

Phoenix looks down at the red staining his suit and wonders whether it’s his turn to ‘choose death’

*****

10 minutes ago

February 14th, Valentine’s Day.

Phoenix had everything planned in advance.

(For once).

Normally freewheeling was more his style but it certainly isn’t his fiancé's. Considering the day is devoted to those you love, Phoenix figured Miles would appreciate some forethought for once. Admittedly he's not cooked up a very complicated plan, if he really wanted to he probably could have found a way to execute it on relatively short notice. BUT, Phoenix had thought in advance, so he’s practically invincible. Unlike all other Valentines, this year he was able to save up for Miles’ ridiculously fancy wine and disgustingly bitter chocolate. It’s a world he’ll never hope to understand, but Miles always insists that ‘It’s not bitter, you just have no taste in quality. The business that creates…’ and Phoenix zones out after that. But he’s definitely made up for it by taking pictures of the box and bottle remembering the brand.

So with a pep in his step and a swagger in his stride Phoenix cruises into the prosecuting quarters - the security don’t bother stopping him anymore, they know who he is. However, he has to be sneaky about this since his goal is not to merely visit Miles but to surprise him. It’s a challenge he faces on a yearly basis, no one knows him better than his beloved future husband. That being said, Phoenix plans to do something stupid. If there’s one thing Miles can never predict, it’s idiocy, and thankfully Phoenix is full of it.

Just like most places of work, it’s completely fine to bring food on-site which means delivering the chocolate will be a breeze. The wine however, is a different story. Alcohol is a strict no-go and this is what makes it the perfect surprise.

In a risky situation like this, you might think it would be best to perhaps pour the wine in a different container or maybe bring a bag, but Phoenix happens to be a moronic genius so he’s doing neither of those things. He wants the satisfaction of sneaking a full wine bottle into Miles’ office and he knows from experience that his bag will be searched (the chief prosecutor was NOT happy to bail him out of that one). Luckily he happens to be an irritatingly persistent man so the security has just started letting him through with half a glance, and this is how he can shoddily conceal a whole-ass wine bottle bulging out of his inner jacket pocket. 

Now, if there’s one thing Phoenix has learned it’s that Miles is a big fan of subtlety, but Phoenix is physically incapable of doing anything like a normal person so he’s breaking into his fiancé's office. It’s a great idea. Miles never asks for anything for Valentine’s Day but he’s tragically come to accept that no force on earth that’ll stop his crazy fiancé from getting him a gift. Not even different countries. Unfortunately, this now means it’s not a surprise anymore, so he’ll make it a surprise…by breaking into his office. He won’t see it coming, Phoenix can picture it now, Miles busy and stressed from a strenuous day’s work, opens his drawer to retrieve more files only to find a thoughtful and romantic gift from his soon to be wed. Miles then smiles goofily and skips off into the sunset.

It’s foolproof.

He smirks at his own brilliance but quickly stops, there's nothing more suspicious than a smirking man walking to the Chief Prosecutor’s office.

Miles is out having lunch right now, Phoenix knows because he socially checkmated him with his own detective. Unlike most people who’d jump at the chance to leave their desks for a break, Miles prefers to stay hidden away where he can eat lunch in complete silence, which is a big problem for people who want to sneak into his office. Luckily Gumshoe is a blindly trusting, lovable man. A few phone calls, a bluff or two here and one stolen lunch later the detective has worn Miles down enough that it’s easier just to go get lunch with him than it is to send him away.

Phoenix politely nods to the few people he passes, he nonchalantly takes a left, casually turns a corner and a few more corridors later is Edgeworth’s office. It’s carefully tucked away and adorned with an obnoxiously fancy name plaque, he knows for a fact Miles prefers his cursive to be on the more legible side but decided to make people struggle on purpose. Phoenix can barely read it even though he knows what it says, but there’s no doubt who the office belongs to because no one else would pull such a dick move and get away with it.

Ohoohoohoohoohoohoooo

He grins deviously as his fingers wiggle in anticipation, no wonder there’s so much crime, this is exhilarating!

The pads of his fingers skim over the handle and…

The door’s locked.

Oh. Shit, right.

No problem for a forward planner such as himself, always thinking ahead. He’s made a copy of the key. Waiting for Miles to finally go to bed so he had a chance to swipe it was nothing short of painful, the man treats night as if it’s day. Phoenix is about seventy percent sure he’s engaged to a vampire.

Now, is it illegal to steal the Chief Prosecutor's office key and create a replica? Maybe. Possibly. Probably, but he’s a defence attorney so he’s got himself covered.

Pushing the key into the lock wasn’t as smooth as he’d like it to be but his janky key copy gets the job done, although, for a hot minute it looked like he might’ve had to resort to more…drastic measures.

Phoenix casually takes a quick glance around before slipping through the door and smoothly closing it behind him. 

It’s go time.

There’s no time to observe the haughty décor or breathe in the nerdy aroma, he’s a man on a mission and he beelines for the desk with a purposeful stride. He regrets it immediately. The smooth soles of his formal shoes slip and glide across the shiny wooden floors, time seems to slow down for a second as his useless nostrils finally recognise the smell of floor varnish, and he wonders if his fate could have been avoided if he stopped to take in the nerdy aroma.

THUD.

He collides with Miles’ desk hard , the fresh oak thankfully swallows most of the sound but does nothing to cushion the impact. Phoenix seals his lips tightly shut as he fights off the urge to howl in agony, scrambling to claw at the desk edge so he doesn’t clatter to the ground and make any more noise. With a ferocious grip he heaves himself up a sturdy standing point, screaming into the inside of his mouth while he does so, he hits something other than the desk and it does not take mercy.

OKAY, okay, this is fine. He’s fine. He takes a deep breath in and a shaky breath out. Bruises be damned, he’s got a Valentine’s mission to accomplish.

Hobbling around the desk requires extreme care, his body yearns to wail out in pain at the first step and Phoenix clamps his mouth shut ungracefully. His face scrunches in on itself as if he’s bitten a lemon, he reluctantly shuffles along with a shaky suffering exhale. Thankfully the journey is less than a metre in length but he fully plans to tell Maya he had to crawl across the whole office.

The drawers are custom to match the desk, they’re completely flush and expertly crafted with silver designs Phoenix never cared to notice before. At the centre of the decoration…

No.

You’ve got to be kidding. 

Oh just-fuck off.

It’s a lock. IT’S A LOCK.

Well, shit. Now on closer inspection, all the drawers are carefully adorned with metallic swirls and metal studs all to mask the keyholes in Every. Single. Drawer.

Edgeworth you paranoid bastard.

It’s fine. It’s fine. Maybe it’s not quite the gesture he wanted but he can still put the gifts in the middle of the desk, if anything it’s more picturesque that way. Yeah, yeah it’s way better. Miles probably wouldn’t appreciate him snooping through his stuff anyway. So it’s fine.

Plan B.

He nearly cries as he unfolds himself to haphazardly gently fling the chocolates onto the desk. Phase one of plan B done, now, onto phase two. While carefully and painfully straightening himself out fully he notices that his blue suit isn’t looking quite so blue anymore…it’s looking a little purple on his side…

…Is he bleeding?

Oh shi-Phoenix immediately clutches at his side to assess the damage, he comes in contact with something cold and hard.

THE WINE.

Without thinking he rips the bottle out from inside his jacket, ignoring the screeching agony in his side and failing to notice something small drop to the floor. The second Phoenix releases the wine from his inner pocket it starts gushing expensive-no wait-hold on-NOT THE POLISHED FLOORS. Simultaneously he slaps a hand over the sharp glass opening and smashes his face against the bottle, licking away the evidence like a disgraced wine whore.

It’s then while he’s lapping up his last months’ savings that voices sound outside the door. He freezes, his face red in more ways than one and standing quite literally red-handed in a crime of his making.

Oh dear god no, not like this.

The voices get louder as they draw closer.

Shitshitshitshitshit-

He crawls under the desk. No time to think. He just does it. Fuck, he’s committed now. He sends a quick prayer to the gods not only for his safety but also in thanks to his fiancé's obnoxiously large desk, considering he’s not a short man the wiggle room is off the charts. With his last few brain cells, he remembers to drag Miles’ chair inconspicuously back in place.

Fuuuuuhuhuhuhhuuuuck.

He can just barely make out the muffled voices, one of them is notably loud and boisterous while the other is much harder to hear. Not that he needs clear audio confirmation to know who it is anyway.

The sound of a key ratting the lock is thunderous through the office, the barrel turns but stops part way in an unsatisfactory manner. There’s another attempt that is followed by a deep and brooding ‘Hmmm.’ and if Phoenix wasn’t certain before, he’s confident now. No one else is capable of expressing that much contempt, disappointment and unamusement in one sound. It’s him.

Now they're closer to the door Phoenix can hear the conversation being exchanged,

“What’s the matter, sir?”

“...Do you recall me locking this door, detective?” 

It’s your imagination, it's your imagination, it's your imagination.

“I’m pretty sure you did, I mean, you always do. Why, is it open?” Gumshoe then gasps dramatically “Ya don’t think someone could have broken in, could you!? I mean, you’d do that to you anyway?”

Phoenix grimaces under the desk, certainly not anyone he could think of.

There’s a long-suffering sigh before Miles boredly responds,

“There’s every chance I simply forgot detective, you said it yourself that I routinely lock my door, so there’s every chance you convinced yourself you saw me lock it. Although, I’m not discarding the possibility completely…” His tone turns thoughtful, borderline threatening. Phoenix needs to get the hell out of there.

“Understood, I’ll go in first, sir.” 

God damn it Gumshoe, could you be less self-sacrificial for once!??

“As you wish.” Miles doesn’t even have the decency to hesitate before giving the okay, if anything he sounds resigned and mildly irritated. Not that that’s any different from normal.

Gumshoe then proceeds to slam the door open with an unnecessary amount of force, it has Miles spluttering in outrage and Phoenix wincing at both the impact and the scolding his fiancé is dishing out, he’s been on the receiving end of one of those more times than he’d like to admit. He’s suddenly very glad he didn’t try to hide behind the door, never mind the rules he’s broken because Gumshoe would have accidentally smashed his face in.

“Ah hang on, detective-”

S c Ree cH

GUAH, what the fuck was that?

“Yeah sir, what is it?”

“...Nevermind.”

‘Nevermind’? That was genuine Edgeworth concern, you can’t just let that go!??

“Somthin’ I should be worried about Sir?” 

Yes absolutely, press him harder. Wring him out and juice his secrets! He really needs to teach Gumshoe the art of being a nosy bastard at some point, which is ironic considering his job.

“...” There’s a sigh once again, “Evidently not, the floor to my office was recently polished and it’s caused a few… casualties, although that doesn’t seem to be a problem for the footwear of someone in your field.”

Heheheh, casualties, Miles definitely fell on his face.   

“Ohh, you mean my work boots, sir?”

“Mmmm, I believe you had a task to do? Don’t scuff my floor.”

What a dickhead.

“Don’t you worry sir! I’ll be as soft as those puppies in toilet paper commercials!”

…What?

“...Just get the job done detective.” It’s impressive that he can hear Miles rolling his eyes.

“Right!”

And then the horrible screeching starts again.

Jesus christ is that Gumshoe’s shoes!? It sounds like a demonic cat from hell.

Phoenix winces as the squeaking starts nearing the desk, he needs an out and he needs it now . How the hell is he supposed to get Miles to leave his own office?? The man practically lives here.

“Oh hey, there’s something on your desk here sir?”

“Oh?”

…God dammit. Rookie error.

“It uhh, looks like it’s from…oh hey, it’s Valentin-”

“Yesyes all that dribble’s dedicated for today.” Miles is quick to silence the detective, his tone is snappy but there’s a frantic undertone to it. Perhaps an…embarrassed undertone~

Phoenix smirks in the dark while cowering under the desk.

Gumshoe goes to talk again but gets quickly steamrolled over by Miles.

“Let me guess, it’s from a certain bluffing defence attorney is it? Honestly, it shouldn’t surprise me he’d go to such lengths.” 

Damn, he doesn’t even sound mad, just disappointed.

“You’re not seriously saying he-” Poor Gumshoe gets talked over again.

“Of course he would. I’m almost tempted to take him to court, breaking and entering is a crime after all. Oh, watching him try to squirm out of it will be fun~ ” Miles’ tone practically drips with sadistic desire, his voice lowering at the end into something dangerous.

…

He’s marrying a demon, he should have seen this coming. But it’s also….kinda hot?

Thankfully Gumshoe manages to get a word in before his body comes to unwanted conclusions.

“Woah woah hold up there sir, at least see what he’s got for ya?” 

SayYesSayYesSayYesSayYes, it wasn’t his plan originally to hear Miles’ reaction but it sure is a welcome addition. Maybe diving under the desk was a good idea after all. Give him that unfiltered truth stat.

“Augh fine. ”

YES

There’s some rustling above him. His body trembles in excitement, the tremors travel through his arms and into his shaking hands. The wine sloshes threateningly inside the bottle. His palms start to sweat and his grip on the glass slips slightly, without thinking he tightens his grip over the opening-

OW SHIT

“Oh?-”

SHUT UP MILES

It’s a testament to his dumbass commitment that rather than flinch away he doubles down on his grip to keep the opening sealed…with his injured hand. At this point it’s less about Valentines and more about how extremely expensive the wine is, he’s practically holding liquid money.

…

So he starts licking the bottle again.

His palm stings as he moves the bottle closer to his face, absentmindedly wondering if he’d be able to swap hands without utter carnage. While contemplating his next move he can’t help but notice the wine is starting to taste a little metallic. He’s not getting blood in Miles’ wine, is he??

Ah shhhi-

Whelp, no time like the present, carefully butquickly he slides his free hand over the bottle and performs the old switcheroo with minimal leakage. Thank sweet baby Jesus.

Mmmmmmmm his cut hand now fucking burns with nothing to provide pressure.

Quietly, Phoenix sits there for a few seconds with his eyes closed, taking in the situation and willing the pain away. He’s thankful there’s no longer glass digging into his flesh but he’s also regretting just about…everything.

The peace is shattered by Gumshoe's thundering voice.

“-What!? Are you sure sir?”

Huh?

“Quite, you’re no longer needed here, you can return to your station.” Miles’ is missing his usual melodramatic sigh, he’s still snippy and unwavering but there’s something light in his tone, almost fond.

Hold on, did he miss something while he was being an idiot? Fuck. He missed Miles’ reaction. GOD DAMMIT.

“But the break in Mr Edgeworth-”

“-Was simply my buffoon of a fiancé, I shall call for you if I suspect otherwise. Now, leave.” In the blink of an eye, the softness is gone, replaced by the usual irritation and curt commands.

“...Okay…” Gumshoe still sounds concerned and unsure, the poor guy seems to be battling between following orders and ensuring Miles’ safety. It’s sweet but Phoenix could not be more glad to know the police officer is being sent away from his criminal activities.

Okay, fuck, this is happening. He needs to get Miles away and he needs it to happen NOW. Uhhhh Maya? No, she’s way up in the mountains. Gumshoe? What the hell is he talking about? That’s a stupid idea. Uhhhh who else, who else?? It’s not like he can just ring up the Chief Prosecutor and-

…

!

Phoenix Wright is a genius.

Gumshoe’s footsteps sadly squeak away as the man solemnly retreats. Phoenix would feel bad if he wasn’t cheering for his absence, although this now means that Miles will be significantly less distracted by his bumbling shadow, so this needs to be executed quickly and swiftly. As carefully as possible Phoenix slides down so he has better access to his pockets, biting his cheek when his cut gets aggravated while wiggling his phone out. God damn his fiancé and insisting he get tightly tailored trousers.

Above him, Miles sighs with a remarkable amount of melancholy now he thinks he’s alone. He’s almost certainly running his hands down his face and/or pinching the bridge of his nose in despair, ideally, he’ll brood in disappointment for a good while. Time is a little tight right now.

Phoenix’s heart hammers rapidly deep in his chest as he successfully wiggles out his phone and flips to contacts, smearing blood over the screen. When he finds who he’s looking for he takes extra care to click the messenger bubble situated next to the call button, whoever decided to put those two in close proximity was the devil in disguise. His thumb keeps slipping and it’s a struggle to hit the letters correctly, his brain’s scrambling to conjure a plausible explanation.

Come on, come on, think think think. There’s no time for this, there’s not a thought in his head but he’s typing words regardless, it largely doesn’t help that his screen is waterlogged with blood.

Phoenix: 

Csn yoi come to mu office NOE?? Bleeding

Perfect.

Technically it’s not a lie too, he is indeed bleeding. Idly, he wonders if he should do something stupid to raise the stakes and have a rock-solid alibi. Without his permission, his eyes flicker to the shard of glass that fell from the bottle earlier. His tongue runs over the scars at the corner of his lip and inside his cheeks…perhaps it’s not best to repeat history.

…Unless-

Miles’ phone dings loudly through the office, echoing off the walls.

Phoenix strains to hear the rustle of fabric as he prays Miles is retrieving his phone, it's a fruitless effort considering an Edgeworth would never dare wear fabric that would rustle, the finest silks of foreign land hardly associate with such a word. But he does manage to pick up a less than composed grumble, so small victories. There’s a sharp intake of breath and then-

…

Phoenix’s phone begins to ring.

…

With his phone still in his hand he’s able to silence it immediately, but not before he catches a glimpse of the contact.

SmilesWorth Call Declined.

Shit.

Incoming call from SmilesWorth .

…Fuck it, he answers the call. He whispers into his phone as quietly as possible.

“ Hey Miles, how’re you doing? ”

“Wright.” 

“ Edgeworth. ” 

And just for shits and giggles because he’s well and truly already fucked, 

“ Hey uh Miles, do you mind stopping by my office real quick? I cut my hand and I can’t wrap it up properly. ” He’s both sweating and smirking, a part of him wonders if he can convince Miles to walk out in exasperation.

There’s a dangerous pause.

“Well, Wright, it's simply terrible you’ve managed to injure yourself. It must have been so traumatic that you needed to seek comfort from under my desk. Well, it’s all safe now Phoenix, why don’t you crawl out so we can clean that dastardly wound of yours hmmm?” Miles is overly sweet, he purrs his name in what has got to be the most menacing manner possible. His voice deeply rumbles through the phone speaker and reverberates through Phoenix's bones. Suddenly the desk is starting to look quite cosy.

“ ...Yeah, you can meet me…I’m in my office …” He isn’t sure he wants to play this game anymore.

Footsteps echo off the walls. There’s a glimpse of a black shoe in the corner of the room.

“Phoenix. I can hear my own voice coming through your phone.” Miles’ patience seems to be running thin today, he’s already dropped the psychopathic sweet tone and sounds like he’s considering bodily dragging Phoenix out.

“ That’s your imagination .” 

“I’m more than happy to come to you.” He can hear something being shifted but doesn’t dwell on it for his own sanity. Never before has he wanted his fiancé so far away from him.

“ My office you mean. ”

“Wright.” It’s a growl this time, barely restraining from ripping Phoenix’s throat out. And it’s much closer than he anticipated.

The chair concealing his hiding place is gently set aside and two shiny black shoes take its place. Somehow the calm action is far worse than any violent outburst.

For a moment neither of them moves, Phoenix contemplates whether he should start being smart about this or not. The good old deescalate and downplay has never let him down, so he finally ends the call and offers a casual,

“Sup.” As if he’s not breaking the law right now.

“Get out Phoenix.” 

Ookay.

He wiggles around a bit, looking at his gammy blood covered phone that he has no desire to jam into his pocket.

“Hey uh, Miles? Can you hold onto this real quick?” He sticks his arm out from under the desk, unwilling to emerge quite just yet. He has a plan. A bad plan, but certainly a plan.

The phone isn’t taken from him immediately, when he glances over at Miles he can just about see his arms fiddling with something. In hindsight, he probably should have warned him about the blood. While he’s pondering whether to provide an explanation of some sort it’s that an elegant handkerchief-covered hand plucks the phone from his grasp. It’s such an Edgeworth move that Phoenix can’t help but give an inward chuckle, he’s marrying this neat freak nerd.

“...Are you quite alright down there?” Miles’ posh drawl is still somewhat clipped, but there’s a twinge of concern he’s attempting to cover up.

It’s sweet and nearly enough to put Phoenix at ease, but he’s played this game many times and knows better than to fall for the old ‘I care for your wellbeing’ trick. He’s not going to the hospital again.

“Yeah yeah totally fine.” He’s definitely still in pain.

Okay Okay, action stations, time to show off just how undamaged he is.

Gracefully, Phoenix’s joints crack as he shifts out from under the desk. With one hand preoccupied with hiding the bottle behind his back and the other unable to touch anything, he’s forced to scoot with elegance.

He didn’t think Miles would be impressed, but he didn’t expect him to audibly gasp and start fretting about…not angrily..?

“Good lord Phoenix, I thought you said you cut your hand-are you alright? Are you hurting? Come here, how bad is it-” Just as Miles starts to advance closer, Phoenix stops him in his tracks by holding up his bloody hand.

“Woah woah woah, what are you on about? I’m fine.” Right on cue his palm throbs and his bruises ache, he tries to hide his wince with a smile. Miles doesn’t seem very convinced and Phoenix realises he’s given him a front-row view of his injury and quickly snatches his hand back. It’s not as if he could have used his other hand, he’s still trying to hide the wine.

…The wine…

Oh shi-

“You just-um-is that not...it appears as though you might have blood on your face?” Poor Miles just looks concerned, this is not how Phoenix envisioned Valentine’s Day going.

A few bad bullshit excuses unhelpfully frolic through his brain and for a moment he wishes he ate that damn glass shard so he’s got a good explanation. The cogs in his brain are oiled with tar as he stings together something reasonable.

“Oh I uh, must have touched my face at some point or something.” He waves his bleeding hand for emphasis. Thank god he’s clumsy and accident prone.

“Okay, that…sort of makes sense, but then why wouldn’t you-and why would-and why are-no-why did you…you know what, nevermind just-” He pinches the bridge of his nose, “-get up and I’ll patch you up.”

Ignoring Miles’ outstretched hand and disapproving sigh, he summons every ounce of balance and drop of strength to shakily push himself up with only the use of his thighs. He doesn’t fall and more than anything Phoenix wishes to scream in triumph, but right now he has to be chill, so he congers his inner zen. The expression he settles for ends up being a cross between a smirk and a smoulder, he’s not sure if he’s trying to seduce Miles at his point but any distraction is a good distraction. 

Miles is less than impressed. He’s rested Phoenix’s phone on the desk next to the first aid kit.

First aid kit? When’d he grab that?

He gestures towards the chair.

“Sit.” He’s using his Edgeworth voice, this is not good.

“Oh uh actually I’m all okay-” 

“Sit down Phoenix Wright. You need medical attention.”

Yeah no.

He starts casually walking backwards, never turning his back and doing his best to act normal (and failing).

“You know what? My hand’s actually all good, nothing I can’t take care of myself anyway-”

The second the words come out of his mouth he knows he messed up, there’s a challenging glint in Miles’ eyes that he’s seen too often in court.

Edgeworth smirks.

“That isn’t what you exclaimed earlier, in fact, you specifically stated you were unable to ‘wrap your hand properly’. I’m here to assist my cretinous fiancé and I already lovingly procured the medical supplies for you.” And then the smile drops and he gestures to the chair once more, keeping his body language open so he could easily snatch Phoenix’s arm if he made a run for it.

Every step back he takes, Miles takes one step forward.

“Okay so I know I said that but I was just panicking and everything is-”

“Put down whatever ridiculous object you’re holding behind your back and sit down. ” There’s no room for argument in that tone, Phoenix is royally fucked.

He takes a quick glance at the door but it seems that Miles has had enough of his shit.

“I will drag you back as you pathetically claw at the ground and gleefully submerge the friction burns in rubbing alcohol if you so much as think about it.” It’s growled lowly and directly in his face.

Holy fuck. 

A little bit of heat rises to his cheeks.

Oh, this is not going to go down well.

“Okay-look-just…don’t get mad?” Grinning nervously he looks everywhere but Edgeworth’s face. He knows the expression that’ll greet him will be stern and unwavering.

Miles stares deep into his soul, his eyes are both burning and calculating as the prosecutor no doubt looks back on the events leading up to his moment, rapidly slotting the puzzle pieces together. All too quickly Miles’ expression changes and Phoenix knows he’s missed his window of confession.

Before he can hope to explain, Miles starts sputtering with disbelief. 

“Oh my-you did not. For once I’m begging you to tell me I’m wrong. So help me that better not be wine on your face, you certainly did not bring alcohol into a building of the law. Are you trying to get me framed!? ” It’s a very rare sight to see Edgeworth lose his composure and it’s normally over something petty or embarrassing. It’s a lot less funny when it’s due to your own fuck up.

Phoenix nervously grins and presents the bottle with little to say for himself.

“It’s your favourite?”

“IDIOT.” Miles snaps loudly in his face, shattering his well-known calmness and resorting to basic terminology. It never fails to send a shiver down Phoenix’s spine when Edgeworth starts talking normally, that’s how you know something has truly rattled him to his core. And what is the cause of that stress? Phoenix.

Taking a few steps away to compose himself again, Miles mutters under his breath while picking at small imperfections in his suit. Phoenix awkwardly stands to the side, shuffling his feet but is ultimately pinned by the furious aura in the room.

Without meaning to, his eyes flicker over to the door one more time but he genuinely fears being demoted back down to boyfriend if he pulls another stunt. Somewhere in the middle of Phoenix’s nervous sweating Miles grows silent and stares at the floor with a blank expression, he looks over at Phoenix and gives him one final scan before expressionlessly stating.

“That glass chip on the floor is from that bottle.” It’s not a question but Miles doesn’t continue without confirmation.

He nods reluctantly.

“You can’t let go of the bottle or it’ll drip.”

“Mmhmm”

“Your hand is bleeding because of the glass.”

“Mmhmm”

And then Miles goes to continue his line of questioning but pauses, suddenly looking a little unsure.

“...And you have wine on your face because…?”

Phoenix does his best to convey all the self-loathing he’s feeling right now through expression alone. Either he succeeds or Miles decides that he’d rather not hear another tale from the ridiculous life of Phoenix Wright right now because he simply throws up his eyebrows and turns to the first aid box.

With one last truly sorrowful sigh that suggests Miles is considering how he got here in life, he holds out his hand once more.

“Now you’ve got nothing to hide, let me patch up that wound…dear god please tell me you’ve got no more secrets today.” 

Phoenix is about to reassure him but he can’t help but chuckle at the look of horror across his fiancé's face, and knowing everything they’ve been through that expression of dread is not unreasonable.

So he finally takes pity and holds out his semi-crusty hand, which Miles takes gently and starts carefully cleaning the edges with an alcohol pad. It stings, but he’s been through much worse with a lot less care.

He looks down at the beautiful man who’s pouring every ounce of focus into Phoenix’s health and wellbeing, his hair frames his face beautifully as the warm glow of the sun highlights the glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He’s gorgeous and it’s an absolute delight they’ll be getting married one day.

And yet despite all this, he can’t help making one last final comment.

“Hey, Miles?” He looks lovingly down at his beloved.

“Yes?” Miles flicks his eyes up once but otherwise stays on task.

“Happy Valentines Da-MOTHER FUCKER!!!”

The alcohol pad presses harshly into the centre of his injury.

He’s sleeping on the couch tonight.