Archive of Our Own

With a jolt from the sudden pain accumulating on his forehead, Phoenix Wright became conscious.

In a daze, he lifted his head from the floor, where it had been awkwardly nestled against the wedge between his laptop and Edgeworth’s living room carpet, and blinked slowly.  A hand instinctively traveled up to feel the indentation of skin it left behind.

How long had he nodded off this time?

Part of him felt the desire to simply lay down, however uncomfortable it might be, and go right back to sleep, but the soft, blue glow of the computer screen permeated his vision, forcing him to remember his responsibilities for that night.

Tomorrow’s — or technically today’s trial, considering the time — was going to be a tough one, and the logistics of the case were already becoming difficult for him to wrap his head around.

But ultimately, he didn’t have to do it alone.  That’s why he was here, wasn’t he?

Miles Edgeworth, one of his oldest friends, turned rival, was now his ally once again, and after the mess of the recent trials, one thing was becoming abundantly clear: finding the truth was easier when they worked as a team.

At least, that was the crux of Phoenix’s argument when he hastily asked Edgeworth to do this.  In hindsight, maybe he came off a bit too strong in his request.  Visiting someone’s apartment and staying until the wee hours of the night wasn’t the sort of thing coworkers normally did, was it?  Yet, that didn’t stop Edgeworth from quickly accepting, much to Phoenix’s surprise, and relief.

But now, encompassed by a chaotic scene of stacked files, photographs, and various legal documents, Phoenix was, undeniably, exhausted. Bloodshot eyes scanned the article on his screen once again, trying to make sense of the academic language, but to no avail. Meanwhile, his confusion was starting to turn into a feeling of misplaced frustration, specifically towards the author of said article. It’s not like he was looking at some fancy scientific journal either; this was one of the first results from a simple internet search, for crying out loud.

At that mention, the thought of Ema Skye briefly crossed his mind. Where was the junior scientist when you really needed her? Sure, her forte might have been forensic science, but he was almost certain she knew enough biology to translate at least some of the article’s jargon to him (seriously, how did they expect a layperson to understand terms like ‘cultivar’ and ‘herbaceous perennial’ with little to no explanation?)

However, it didn’t take long to remember that there was another genius at his disposal, sitting just a few meters away.

Phoenix’s brow furrowed. He didn’t want to keep looking to Edgeworth for assistance (the man had a case for a whole other trial to take care of, after all) but he knew he wasn’t going to get much further along with the investigation at this rate.  Phoenix sighed bitterly, rising to prop himself onto his elbows. He turned to glance up at Edgeworth, sitting cross-legged on the beige sofa, but to his surprise, the prosecutor’s signature glare was already trained onto him.

His pulse quickened.

“Something, uh, something wrong? Edgeworth?”

Edgeworth’s expression tightened, eyeing Phoenix up and down once more. “Your shirt,”  he finally grumbled. “It’s wrinkled.”

“Ah, so it is.” Phoenix returned, taking a small glance at the creases strewn about his white dress shirt.  He definitely had to iron it again once he got home.

The prosecutor curled his lip at the absentminded reply.  “This is getting ridiculous, Wright.  Come sit here. Properly.” Edgeworth began to toss aside some pillows to make more space on the sofa. 

Phoenix rubbed his eyelids. “Huh? Oh no, it’s alright. I’m good right here.”

“Absolutely not. It is unbecoming of me as a host to watch you toss and turn about on the ground when there is a proper seat-”

“I already told you, it’s fine, Edgeworth. Seriously.” He chuckled.

“Hmph. Suit yourself, then.”

What followed then was a brief moment of silence and mutual staring, broken only by Edgeworth averting his eyes and taking a deep breath.

“In any case,” he sighed, “are you having any other difficulties, Wright?”

Now it was Phoenix’s turn to raise an eyebrow. 

“Or,” he continued, “is there another reason why you’re staring at your computer like it owes you money?”

Ah, still perceptive as ever.

“Hah, no, not really.” Phoenix tried a grin, hoping his voice wasn’t revealing the true extent to his exhaustion. “I was just hoping for some sort of epiphany.” He turned back to the article on screen, and muttered, more to himself than to Edgeworth, “Instead, I’m just getting a migraine.” 

Edgeworth hummed, uncrossing his legs to sit more upright. “Care to talk through it?”

“Actually… yeah,” Phoenix admitted, “You wouldn’t mind if I ran over some things with you, would you?”

“Of course not.” Edgeworth leaned over to set whatever file he was reading on the living room table and folded his hands in his lap. “I’m all ears.”

“It’s just… ugh… '' Phoenix began, then trailed off.  As he rolled onto his back, the words he wanted to say seemed to repeatedly bubble to the surface, just to die on his lips.  “Where to even begin?”

“The beginning would be a good start, I would imagine,” came the curt reply.

Phoenix shot him a glare. “Ha, and ha. You know what I meant,” he grumbled.  “It’s like, I have all the pieces — well maybe not all but-”

“Enough?” Edgeworth finished the thought.

“Yes. Enough, but nothing’s becoming any clearer!” Phoenix buried his face with his hands, rubbing his eyelids until he began seeing stars.  “It seems like the more I learn about this case, the less sense it all makes.  I’m not even close to discovering what actually happened.”

He paused, expecting a response, but was only met with silence.  His head turned back to Edgeworth, gingerly raising a cup of tea to his lips. “Oh?” he feigned surprise. “Well, if you are finally finished moping, I suppose I could give you my two cents.”

The defense attorney rolled his eyes.  “By all means,” he huffed.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time… mulling over the specifics of this case, I gather?”

“I mean, I guess?”

“Of course.  You do have a knack for details, after all. But while it is probably your, or I should say our , greatest strength, it also makes it all too easy to get trapped in a certain line of thinking.”

Phoenix tilted his head. “Our?” 

“Yes, as much as it pains me to say, you and I are very much alike in that respect.”

“Pains you?” Phoenix echoed, mock outraged, then shook his head, “Well if that’s the case, what are you suggesting I do, then?”

“In my opinion? What I suggested at the very onset of this conversation: start from the beginning.”

“Huh?”

“Pretend I know nothing. Explain everything as if it’s the first time I’m hearing it.  Perhaps it will help you stumble on the solution you’re looking for.”

“And that works for you?”

Edgeworth simply shrugged. “I’m not sure. This part is usually done in my head, Wright.”

If Phoenix wasn’t so tired, he could’ve sworn that he saw the faintest hint of a smile tug at the corner of the prosecutor’s lips.  A weak grin of his own emerged as he sat up, grabbing a file from one of the nearby stacks.

“Mm, the beginning then,” he started, rummaging through the file to pull out a single photograph of a man in his mid-thirties.

“Let’s start with… the victim: Zeke Cretagent, a wealthy businessman who spent most of his time working overseas.  He had been home on vacation when he was suddenly rushed to the hospital in the middle of the night by his wife.  Apparently, he’d been having heart palpitations, and she told the nurses she was afraid he was having a heart attack.  Unfortunately, they were too late, and he died that night in the hospital.”

“From the heart attack?”

“Actually, no.” Phoenix began flipping through pages in the file again, until he pulled out a lengthy document with tiny print.  “According to Mr. Cretagent's medical report, he had evidently suffered a case of… ‘digitalis toxicity’... which resulted in a fatal arrhythmia.”

“Digitalis,” Edgeworth murmured, “I’ve heard that somewhere before.”

Phoenix tried his best not to roll his eyes again.  Was there any word in the English lexicon that this man was unfamiliar with?

“Some type of drug,” he answered. “Used a lot in medicines prescribed to heart patients.  Kind of ironic, isn’t it?”

Edgeworth frowned.  “Yes, it is most certainly… morbid, to say the least.  But how does this all lead to the gardener’s arrest? I thought we were dealing with a poisoning here, but so far, what you’ve described seems more like an overdose-”

“Hey, hey, I’m getting there!” Phoenix sputtered.  “And what happened to your whole ‘pretend I know nothing’ schtick?”

“Ah, my apologies.  Carry on.”

“Anyways… it certainly seemed like an overdose at first.  Turns out Mr. Cretagent was no stranger to that hospital.  In fact, he’d been taking Digoxin to treat his chronic heart failure for quite some time.  In the doctor’s eyes, it was no wonder he finally kicked the bucket.”

“Heart failure at that age?  Unbelievable.”

“But there was just one problem. Despite his condition, he had none of the risk factors for an overdose… and I mean none .  His dose hadn’t changed in months, and his potassium, magnesium, and calcium levels were all perfectly normal.  It was about to be chalked up to the strange side-effects of long term use. Until…”

“Until?”

Phoenix shuffled one document in front of the other. “Mrs. Cretagent got sick as well, the very next day.  Obviously, it was nowhere near as bad as her husband, but she had all the same symptoms regardless: the sickness, the nausea, the heart palpitations. Low and behold, it was the same diagnosis: digitalis toxicity.”

“And I assume Mrs. Cretagent didn’t share her husband’s medication?”

“Correct,” Phoenix stated, “That’s when the investigation officially opened up: for the potential murder of Zeke Cretagent, and the attempted murder of his wife.”

“And what came of the investigation?”

“Well, the police took a look around the Cretagent’s estate, but for the most part, there wasn’t anything strange or out of the ordinary.  No signs anybody had tampered with Mr. Cretagent’s medicine either.  It wasn’t until one of the forensic guys suggested taking samples of all the food, that they found it.”

Edgeworth’s eyebrows flicked up and he leaned forward ever so slightly.  Phoenix could feel the rise in his voice, almost as if he were telling a story around a campfire.

“Turns out, they were able to determine the thing that made the Cretagents sick was, actually, none other than the spinach salad they ate for dinner.”

“The… salad,” Edgeworth deadpanned. “Forgive me, but I have a hard time believing the spinach had the potency to kill that man, as feeble as he might have been.”

“Normally you’d be right,” Phoenix pronounced with the same, unwavering conviction he often displayed in court, “Unless that spinach had been mixed with the leaves of a foxglove plant: the natural source of digitalis, which just so happened to be growing in a corner of the estate garden.”

“You don’t say?” Edgeworth’s eyes glinted with intrigue. “And since the gardener was the one solely responsible for retrieving the produce—”

“— He was arrested on the spot.” Phoenix sighed, “He denies it all, of course.”

He thought back to the defendant, Christopher Eden, back at the detention center: a polite, elderly gentleman, in an almost comically large straw hat.  The image of him gripping the sides of it, hopelessly pouring his heart out to Phoenix on the other side of the glass, swearing up and down that he ‘ would never do anything to hurt Zeke ’, sent a pang of guilt in his chest.  He had to figure this out, for his sake.

“He didn’t do it.” he spat. “I know he didn’t.”

“I believe you,” Edgeworth affirmed, albeit a bit apprehensively.  Phoenix couldn’t blame him.  After all, had he not said the same thing about Matt Engarde not too long ago?

“Regardless, now that we have the facts,” Edgeworth continued, trying to drag him back into the conversation, “what is your plan for his defense, thus far?”

Nonexistent , Phoenix does not say.  “Well, I have my fair share of doubts,” he mumbled, “but nothing conclusive enough to form a theory just yet.”

Edgeworth waved his hand, unconcerned.  “The truth will reveal itself in due time.  Now let’s hear these doubts of yours.”

Phoenix let out a heavy sigh.  Edgeworth’s calm, level-headed demeanor would force him to set aside his own worries, at least for the time being.  At that, he began to rattle off a laundry list of suspicions he’d been picking at regarding the evidence against the gardener: the lack of fingerprints at the crime scene, the absence of a clear motive, and so on.

“And then there’s the plant itself,” he continued, rubbing his chin. “I mean, even if someone really wanted Zeke and his wife dead, whether it was Mr. Eden or someone else, it seems like they picked a poor choice of poison, don’t you think?”

“How so?”

“Well, Mrs. Cretagent was clearly affected by it, but in the end, it’s not like she was close to dying, right?  Why go through all the trouble to poison someone, if the poison isn’t even potent enough to finish the job?”

Edgeworth paused, contemplating the question for a moment. Then, his eyes shot up at Phoenix.

“Unless Mrs. Cretagent wasn’t the intended target.”

“W- What?” 

“Think about it, Wright.  The poison wasn’t strong enough to be lethal.  Ergo, the only reason Mr. Cretagent died was due to the combined effects of the digitalis in the salad and his medication.”

“So- so that means…” Phoenix gasped, finally catching on.

“Whoever did this not only had to have access to the foxglove leaves, but also had to be acutely aware of Mr. Cretagent’s condition.”

“ And Mr. Eden couldn’t possibly have known!” Phoenix triumphed for a split second, before the gleam in his expression faltered.  “But- wait- by making that argument, the only person left to implicate is… Mrs. Cretagent herself.”

Edgeworth clicked his tongue. “Ah.”

Phoenix groaned, letting his body slump down to the floor once more. Was he really going to argue that Mrs. Cretagent hated her husband so much, she was willing to send herself to the hospital just to kill him and get away with it?  There was no way that would hold up in court, even against a wet noodle prosecutor like Winston Payne.

“Here,” Edgeworth said, clearing his throat, “let’s take a few steps back before we get too ahead of ourselves shall we?  Can we prove the digitalis in the plant leaves alone wasn't enough to be lethal?”

“Good question.” Phoenix grumbled, suddenly remembering the damned internet article. “That might be hard to find out, though, just based on what I’ve seen online so far.”

“Come to think of it…” Egeworth began, staring off into space.  Phoenix didn’t speak.  He knew better than to interrupt Edgeworth when he was deep in thought.

“I remember reading… oh I don’t suppose I still have that book-”

“Book? What book?”

“When I—” Edgeworth stopped suddenly, causing Phoenix to gaze up at him from the floor.  His head was tilted down and away, eyes hiding behind the charcoal bangs that swept across his face.

“In Europe,” he rephrased, “foxglove flowers are more common. They are native to the region I believe.”

Ah, there it was.  Even after all this time, the topic of his disappearance was something Edgeworth would cross the street to avoid discussing.  It stung from time to time, wondering why Edgeworth never opened up about where he went, at least not completely; why he felt he still couldn’t confide in him after everything they’ve been through together.  But, no matter how much he wanted to know, Phoenix never pushed his boundaries regarding the matter.  Edgeworth never brought it up, so Phoenix never asked.

“There was a lengthy excerpt about them in a Farmer’s Almanac I read some time ago,” he continued.

“Oh!  Do- Did you keep it?” Phoenix sat up eagerly. 

“If I did, it's most likely in my study.” Edgeworth huffed, stretching his limbs as he gathered the energy to rise from the couch.  It suddenly occurred to Phoenix that he was probably exhausted as well .   “I suppose I can take a look-”

“No! Ah, I mean, no need!” Phoenix found himself sputtering, rising to stand before Edgeworth could even finish his sentence. 

Edgeworth halted.  The prosecutor quirked an eyebrow, eyeing him like he had three heads.

“I mean, uh, don’t trouble yourself!  It’s my case, so I should be the one to look around if anything.” Then, remembering they were still in Edgeworth’s apartment, he added, “If that’s okay, of course.”

Luckily, Edgeworth seemed to take his awkward rambling in full stride.  “My, my,” he drawled, a slight smirk creeping onto his face, “If only you could be this considerate all the time, Wright.”

“Hey! I’m considerate!”

“Maybe in your own mind…”

“I am! Well, most of the time anyways-”

“Considerate? No. Considerably hopeless? Absolutely.”

“That’s it, I’m leaving.”

Then, as he turned on his heels to make way down the hall, Edgeworth laughed.  But it wasn’t the cold, snarky laugh that only came out when he was behind the prosecutor’s bench, catching Phoenix making an utter fool out of himself.  No, this was different.  This was warm and genuine and almost too good to be true.  It almost made Phoenix think that there may be something to this after all.

“It’s the second door on the left,” came the breathy voice from behind.

“Alright,” he replied, even if he was anything but.

—————

As it turns out, searching for the almanac ends up being a much more difficult task than he initially thought, because of course it does.  Why would the universe ever decide to grant Phoenix Wright any favors?

When it came to Edgeworth’s study, the best word to describe it was simply “tight”, not by size, but by the sheer density of stuff within it.  The room, nevermind the fact it was probably larger than Phoenix’s entire office, was packed wall-to-wall with bookcases, filing cabinets, and shelves with sets of books and binders, all perfectly organized to fill the space efficiently.

It’s not like he could narrow it down much, either.  The only restriction Edgeworth placed onto him was to stay away from the locked top-drawer of the right-most filing cabinet, which contained classified files from cases that were currently being investigated or under review; besides that, everything else in the room was unlocked and ‘ available for his perusal ’.  At the time, Phoenix simply nodded, not having the heart to tell him that would probably only make things harder, but he digressed.

So far, he had glanced through all of the bookshelves and one (or was it two?) of the filing cabinets.  Now, he had moved on to Edgeworth’s desk, deciding once and for all that if he didn’t find the almanac in one of these drawers, he would just give up the search entirely.

He went through the first drawer quickly: nothing but pens, extra legal pads, and other mundane office supplies.  Moving on to the second drawer, which had just about as much interest as the first, Phoenix felt a sting of disappointment.  Maybe Edgeworth had unknowingly gotten rid of the book after all.  However, as he pulled open the considerably heavier third drawer, something else caught his eye.

Unlike the other compartments, this one was littered with all kinds of stuff.  Crumpled documents, receipts, sticky notes, and other scraps of paper were scattered at the top, making it almost difficult to open or close the drawer completely.  Phoenix frowned, then chuckled to himself.  It was sort of a silly sight, especially compared to the tidiness of the rest of the study.  He would never figure Edgeworth of all people to be the type to have a junk drawer.  But ultimately, that wasn’t the thing that caught his attention.

Upon closer inspection, there was a… well, something, hidden beneath the mess.  It almost looked like another file, or maybe an envelope?  Whatever it was, it couldn’t hurt to take a quick look.  In hindsight, Phoenix would end up mentally kicking himself for digging through Edgeworth’s stuff like this, but in the present, his arm absentmindedly reached into the drawer, gingerly pulling out the mysterious item before-

“Shit—!”

And just like that, dozens of papers suddenly slipped out from the — yes, an envelope — before scattering around the floor of Edgeworth’s study like a gust of autumn leaves.

Instinctively, Phoenix snapped his head towards the door of the office that led down the hallway, listening for footsteps.  A pause.  Then silence, along with a relieved sigh.  The last thing he needed was Edgeworth coming out to scold him about making a mess of his stuff.  But again, hindsight being what it is, he almost wished he had.  Maybe then, he wouldn’t have seen it.  Maybe then, those awful words wouldn’t have been burned into his memory.

As he frantically swooped down to pick up the fallen papers, there it was, clear as day.  If Phoenix was a religious man, he would think it was placed there on purpose by some angel, making sure it was impossible for him to miss.  Neatly printed on a creased piece of printer paper, were those all too familiar words:

Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses death.

Phoenix froze.  A shaky breath escaped his lips, as he willed the pang of guilt in his chest to go away.  There wasn’t a point in getting too emotional about it, he tried rationalizing.  As much as it might’ve hurt the first time he read it — that quiet, late-February morning with Gumshoe’s hand on his shoulder — that whole debacle was behind them now.  It was in the past.

Then why does he still have it?

It should’ve been thrown away.  Burned, just for good measure.  Hell, Phoenix would’ve even been content with it being one of the crumpled wads at the top of the drawer, instead of this: tucked away in an envelope with all these other papers like some sort of memento box.  

He paused again.  Only then, did the thought fully register: there were other papers.  Phoenix’s eyes flicked down to the ground once again.  They were letters.

Someone with more sensibility would have realized this was quickly becoming a breach of privacy; the objects in this envelope clearly weren’t meant for his eyes.  All he needed to do was stop, return everything to its rightful place, and never speak of this again.  But he was never known for his sensibility, now was he?  He was Phoenix Wright, the single-minded, upstart “Ace Attorney”.  Once he started something, he always saw it through; and that’s exactly what he was going to do, even if it meant tearing his heart to pieces.  Before he could even stop himself, shaky hands were already gripping the sides of the letter closest to his feet.

To whom it may concern, it began, not easing the pit in his stomach.

It seems as though in just these few, short years, an innumerable amount of lives have been plagued by the mistakes of my career, of which I should have spent a lifetime apologizing for.  It is upon this realization that I say the following to you:

For the last time, I am truly, deeply sorry.  As firmly as I held in my convictions, both regarding and outside of the law, it was never my intention to hurt anyone.  I would love nothing more than to chalk up that stubbornness to youth and inexperience, but that would be nothing more than a magnificent excuse.  Success was always something I strived for, but now I’ve rightfully come to terms that what I have done wasn’t so.  My methods, as good-natured as I lead myself to believe, were tactless and selfish.  Even now, as I am about to do the most selfish thing of all, I can only hope you will forgive me.  There is so much I would like to say.  I never-

Whatever was written after that was practically illegible.  Phoenix’s stomach lurched, letting the letter fall to the ground.  He whipped around, eyeing a spot on the floor where a number of the others had congregated.  Some were written in scratchy, light pencil, others more neatly and in ink, indubitably from one of the fancy fountain pens in the top drawer.  Phoenix couldn’t imagine it: Edgeworth sitting down at his desk to write something as cold as this.  It wasn’t possible. This wasn’t real .

Some, he noticed, were also addressed differently, to specific people.  A few names, he didn’t even recognize.  Others he did: Franziska, Ema, Dick Gumshoe, Manfred Von Karma .

Phoenix.

His heart practically stopped.  A cold sense of dread washed over him.  He swore he didn’t, but even if he was subconsciously searching for it, nothing could’ve prepared him for this.  This would surely be his breaking point, the poison that would finally do him in.  Then why was he still so eager to gulp it down?

Dear Phoenix, it read as he stepped closer.  Not “Wright” or even “Phoenix Wright”, but Phoenix .  Awful.  Horrible, really.

I hope you know I never wanted you to become a part of this.  In fact, I desperately tried to keep you out as much as I could.  But you always seem to find your way, don’t you?

He swallowed.  His mouth was agonizingly dry.

You’ve become quite the predicament in my life, and by that, I mean in the best way possible.  But as much as you might come to hate me for it, I cannot bear to face you any longer.  To be blunt, I am no longer the boy you once knew all those years ago.  I have grown to do things that are most irreconcilable, while you have become someone far too good for me.  As much as I cherish our friendship, I cannot stand to watch you ruin yourself being associated with me.    

Even so, please do not underestimate how much I admire you.  Perhaps I was too cowardly or inarticulate to say it directly, but I am still so very fond of you, even after all this time.  It has come to the point where I have no choice but to finally admit-

“So this is what you’ve been up to.”

Phoenix nearly jumped right out of his skin at the low murmur behind him.  He spun around quickly, clutching the letter against his side.  Edgeworth was staring daggers at him from the office entryway.

“Edgeworth! I- I just—” 

But the man said nothing.  He simply strided past him, and bent down to snatch the remaining papers off the floor.  His expression was tight and pained.  Betrayed, Phoenix knew.

“And here I thought,” the prosecutor hissed “just once, maybe, you’d keep your prying eyes to yourself.”

“Edgeworth,” he tried again.  But now he wouldn’t even look at him.  His back was turned towards Phoenix, shoving the letters back into the envelope with little to no regard.

“You should go, Wright,” he growled.  “It’s late.”

“ No .”

Phoenix was a little surprised at himself; he definitely said that a lot louder than he meant to.  Edgeworth froze as well, but still kept his back towards him.

“No, I’m not going. Not until you explain what the hell this is.”

Edgeworth turned slightly.  “Explain? Explain what, exactly?  You already got an ample eyeful, didn’t you?  What else is there to know?”

The letter was still in his right palm, crumpled underneath his increasingly tightening grip.

“What did- what were you going to do, Edgeworth?”

Edgeworth was silent for a moment.  “It doesn’t matter,” he stated.  “Those are old, anyhow.  They are of no importance to me now.”

“But you still kept them.”

“It’s-”

“You still kept them . Why?”

In an instant, both of Edgeworth’s palms came down on the desk with a thunderous - SLAP- .  “I fail to see how this is any of your business—!”

“My business?!” Phoenix blazed, stepping closer. “You were going to kill yourself, of course that’s my damn business!”

“That’s not-”

“No. NO. Okay? You don’t get to be stubborn right now.  Not after all the shit you’ve pulled.” Phoenix knew those words had bite to them.  He took a deep breath.  “I just— Please, Miles, just don’t shut me out again!”

At that, Edgeworth finally turned all the way around, but those gray eyes were still glued to the floor, arms pinned behind his back, gripping the edge of the desk like some sort of lifeline.  It was such a vulnerable position.  Phoenix watched him repeatedly part his lips, only for no sound to ever come out.  It was up to him, he eventually realized, to be the one to rescue this situation.

“I’m worried about you,” he started, trying to keep his voice from trembling.  “I know it’s been hard, and I know it’s something you probably don’t want to talk about, but you can’t— you can’t keep everything to yourself like this.” 

Edgeworth somehow slumped against the desk even further.  “I— didn’t want to drag you into this,” he mumbled at last.

“Make no mistake, you’re not dragging me into anything.”

“It certainly seems that way.”

“No, you don’t understand— I just—”

Don’t cry, Phoenix thought, don’t start crying now.  Not like this.

“— I just, don’t want to lose you again.”

Edgeworth finally looked up at him, gaze unwavering.  “I never intended to make you so… concerned,” he faltered, “Though I can’t begin to wrap my head around why you would be.”

“Why I’d be concerned ?” Phoenix asked, bewildered.  “Fucking— because I care about you!  Obviously—” He averted his eyes, powerless to stop the forbidden truth from rising to the surface.  “—I’ve always cared about you.  You’re…”

My best friend, my inspiration, my hero, my muse…

“You’re everything to me.”

His eyes barely flickered up, before settling right back on the floor.  Edgeworth was looking dead-straight at him now, expression unreadable from across the room.  Everything about him seemed so far away.

“You—” he almost whispered, “You mean that. Truly?” His tone was disbelieving.

Phoenix nodded slowly, the heat of embarrassment causing blood to rush to his face.  Unbeknownst to him, Miles was moving forward, walking with the sort of tentativeness one would use when approaching a wounded animal.  It wasn’t until Phoenix looked up that he realized Edgeworth had practically eliminated the space between them.  Time seemed to slow to a crawl.

“Forgive me,” he rasped, “I'm not very good with words.”

And so he leans in, grabbing Phoenix by the shirt collar, and pressing their lips together.

It’s not very long, and it's hardly enough to be considered a full-on kiss, but by God is it something .  Phoenix does his best to steady himself, only managing to reach up and grab Edgeworth’s trembling arms, before he’s already pulling away.

“My— my apologies.  I shouldn’t have— I didn’t— I don’t know what came over me—” Edgeworth sputters, suddenly mortified.

He tries to move away completely, but Phoenix’s grip holds strong, steadying him in place.  Edgeworth flinches, obviously unsure of what to do next.  Looks like actions aren’t your strong suit, either, Phoenix thinks.  So, he dives in, leaning in once more, and letting all the intense pressure of the evening spill into Edgeworth’s quivering lips, wallowing in every little gasp and tremor he gets in response.  

The relief he gets from it is indescribable.  After all the wishing and the chasing and the longing , to finally experience— to indulge— in what he’s always wanted is nothing short of a dream come true.  If he didn’t need to breathe, Phoenix would have been content with staying that way, pulled against Edgeworth's body, for the rest of the night.  But alas, his lungs betray him, so he rises from the newfound ecstasy to catch his breath.

It was probably for the better, he realizes, as he watches Edgeworth start gasping for air, the second they finally part.  He can’t help it; a wide grin spreads across his face.

“Believe me, now?”

Edgeworth’s eyes meet his.  The panic, anxiety, and desperation is gone (well, maybe not that last part, but it’s still different).

“I suppose— there’s no hiding from you, is there?”

“Nope,” Phoenix clicks his tongue. “Not by a long shot.”