Chapter Text
The traffic-riddled drive from work to home leaves Phoenix’s brain itching to think about anything else besides how much traffic there is. Although really, he should be used to this by now. Ever since he landed the acting role of the Evil Magistrate a year ago, he needed to get used to the long-winded procedure of leaving. From changing out of the suit, make-up removal, sighing-out-sheets, and the overbearing security lady, being done with a hard day at work and reaching home seem like a bigger and bigger gap. Fortunately, by the time he arrives home, Miles is usually done with his work as well, and nothing smooths over a tiring day than sharing dinner together.
Today, however, Phoenix plans to divert a little. His husband just successfully defended a big case the other day, and rather than them cooking something up for dinner, Phoenix figures he can surprise Miles with a to-go order from his favorite ramen restaurant. He sends a text to his husband that he’ll arrive home a little later to handle dinner, and drives out of his regular commute, heading for the place downtown.
As he’s about to take his last turn to get onto the restaurant’s street, however, he’s stopped by white barriers with a wooden stop sign propped in the center, road unavailable to vehicles. Behind the barriers show countless people crowding the middle of the road, with vendors and stalls set up to the side. Clearly, there’s an event happening here that he was unaware of. Urgh, parking is going to be a nightmare, he thinks, removing the blinker to go straight instead. There has to be something available. Bad parking or not, now that he’s made up his mind, he’s going to get that dinner. Thankfully, it didn’t take too long this time, so at least he has that going for him.
Looking to get some information, he stops to read a large purple poster lining the walls of a nearby store:
On 12/15/17, Join us for a Japanese-American Celebration! Cultural performances, food, games, exhibits and more—with special events prepared by members of Kurain Village!
Ah, so that’s what’s happening today. It’s no surprise to see the village’s involvement in something like this. Someone would need to be living in a cave if they haven’t heard of the Fey family of Kurian Village by now. A mysterious and alluring valley of spirit mediums with the alleged ability to summon the dead, their popularity grew each year, skeptics and believers alike wanting to come and see the place for themselves. With each post on the internet, the interest didn’t wane. Even Phoenix had a “I Visited Kurain Village to Summon my Dead Dad?!” video popped into his feed unprompted once (he didn’t watch it, but 2.1 million other people did).
Then, months ago, came the spark for a media explosion: Misty Fey’s trail, and the storyline of the true culprit. When Turner Grey, a client for a spirit channeling, was murdered during a session, all fingers pointed to spirit medium Misty Fey as the culprit. Then, intensive days of court revealed the ultimate truth— it was the work of Misty Fey’s sister, Morgan. Dramatic headlines ran everywhere of how Morgan, in her desire for the position of Master, framed her sister of murder to get her out of the picture.
If that story wasn’t enough to grab attention, the courts’ official recognition of Kurian’s spirit channeling as legitimate created even more fanfare. A cocktail of true-crimers, occult youtubers, trial reporters, lawyers, and spiritual-skeptics all turned their heads to watch and share their opinions. And, by extension, Misty Fey’s attorneys, Miles and Gregory Edgeworth, then had their turn in the spotlight.
Even Phoenix got swept up in the excitement, although for much different reasons than the public. Seeing Miles in his element, trading rapid back-and-forth arguments with the unrelenting prosecutor, Phoenix couldn’t have been prouder (and if he was being honest, attracted) to his husband when fighting tooth and nail for that victory. And, unlike others behind the screens, he was there for support when the cameras were off. While Phoenix may be used to receiving media attention, Miles was unprepared for the onslaught of camera flashes and shoved microphones (thankfully, though, the full force of it seemed to taper off with the closing of the case, leaving one less overwhelmed husband).
All that aside, it would be nice to come back with Miles and his father if the city hosts this event next year, Phoenix notes as he enters the restaurant. To no surprise, it is completely back-up with people. He waits 15 minutes in line just to talk to the receptionist, then hears the inevitable news: his order will be ready for pickup in 45 minutes.
With time to kill and the festival just outside, he makes his way to enjoy the surrounding scenery. Although there’s still a good amount of people about, it’s clear that the festival is at its last hour. In his stroll, he goes to buy a pair of taiyaki to save for dessert (one with red bean filling for himself, and one with vanilla custard for Miles). With a happy smirk on him, he continues his walk, noting some art and pottery displays.
“Hey, you! Spikey-haired guy!” a feminine voice suddenly yells out. Phoenix stops his tracks. “Yeah, you! C’mon over here!” He looks towards the call, only to find a teenage girl with a purple kimono and a topknot. That outfit would be out of place anywhere else, but here it fits right in. But there’s something else to the attire his mind tries to reach at, before recognition settles in: it belongs to the Kurian Village spirit mediums.
Knowing that their spirit channeling is legitimate sways Phoenix in what he otherwise would ignore, and walks towards the girl. To the right of her is a tri-fold board display, giving information about something titled the “Shichishito”; to the left is a small purple tent-gazebo.
“What’s all this?” he asks. The young woman’s smile grows.
“This exhibit is about our awesome seven branched sword, also known as the Shichishito!” she starts. “This sword is like life itself—even if we have different branches, different choices, we all eventually come to the end of our lives—just like the end of this sword,” she gestures to the board’s picture of the green ceremonial weapon, “but before that happens, me and the spirits from beyond can help you! At a crossroad in life? Need to make a hard decision? I can give you advice by seeing your soul’s different paths in life! Would you like an up-close example?” she leans in, a playfull expression washing over her face. The look reminds him of Larry when he wants to bud Phoenix into doing something, for better or worse.
“Oh, uh…” To be honest, he’s not sure he’s the right guy for this, but his curiosity for seeing something spiritual up close wins out. It’s only fair, since Miles got to see spirit channeling in person during Misty Fey’s defence. He has to wait for the food to be ready anyway— why not spend the rest of time doing this? “Okay, sure.”
“Cool! Just follow me in!” she gestures inside the tent.
The space is compact, barely managing to fit in the two of them and the table. Still, its enclosure does create a nice little nestle of privacy. What’s most interesting is the object in the middle. A mini version of the emerald sword is encased within a semi-opaque orb, its size reminiscent of a Magic 8-Ball.
“Before we start, I need to know some info about you. Ya know, your name, age, job and all that.”
“Name’s Phoenix Wright-Edgeworth. I’m 25, and an actor.”
“An actor, huh?” she puts her hand to her chin, “so you’re unemployed?”
Does she normally talk to people like this? “No, I’m employed. I’m an actor for the Steel Samurai. Maybe you’ve heard of it?” Although there are fans of all ages, the primary target audience does tend to skew a bit lower.
“WAIT, YOU’RE THE STEEL SAMURAI??!!” she leans over in shock. "I need your autograph!!! I’m such a huge fan!!”
“Ah, no, I’m an actor in the Steel Samurai show. I, uh, play the Evil Magistrate, actually,” he scratches the back of his head.
“Oh!” she says, and is Phoenix just hearing things, or does she sound a little less enthusiastic than before? “That’s cool.” She pauses. “Hey, since you work so closely with him, do ya think you can somehow get the Steel Samurai’s autograph for me? You can just send it to the Kurain Village P.O box and I’ll get it! Just make it out to Maya.”
So much for a fan. “I’ll see what I can do.” Chances are he’s never going to see her again, so there was no point in bothering his co-worker about it.
“Yay!” she claps her hands together, “and with that, I’ll explain what this is,” she gestures to the mysterious item. “As you may know, we Fey women have the ability to summon those who have passed on. Just like how a spirit can be summoned by us, they can also be asked to see the things we can’t. Spirits aren’t grounded to things like time and space, which is awesome, but also makes them hard to read. That’s where I come in! With this orb-shichishito, I can help to see the potential paths of life before you die. Super cool, right?”
Trying to process all that information, he replies with a simple, “Sounds impressive.”
“It is!” she grins. “So…” she grabs the orb into her hand and reaches out, “hold onto this with me, and we’ll see what I can find.” Meeting her half way, he handles the orb, and the medium closes her eyes. Should he be closing his eyes as well? Well, she didn’t mention anything, so he hopes that whatever he’s doing is enough.
“The first thing I see is a magician in red,” she says, breaking the room’s quiet.
Well, that’s odd. While he’s already a performer, he’s never once thought about practicing magic. Not to mention, red was not really his color, always preferring blue. Although, he guesses that’s par for the course with this type of stuff, right? Not knowing what it all means initially. At least, that’s how he’s rationalizing this. “Alright, okay, a red magician. Anything else?”
Another pause. “Have you ever wanted to be a lawyer?”
Now that catches him off guard. Him? An actual lawyer? That type of thinking was only reserved for dumb stray thoughts here and there, a simple “what if” scenario to make jokes about. Yes, sometimes he thinks back to that moment in 3rd grade, when Miles stood up for him when nobody else did. And sometimes… he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can be that someone himself. That desire is part of why he got into acting, to be the comfort to countless people who may need it the most. But being a lawyer is ludicrous. Even with its challenges, he loves acting. Miles is the one who fights courtroom-battles for people when they’re down, when know one else will. It’s admirable, and one of the reasons he loves Miles so much.
“Ah well, maybe you’re seeing my husband instead? He’s a defense attorney.” He wants to add that Maya would actually know of Miles, but decides against it. Now’s not the time to break her concentration and open that can of worms.
“Hmmm, but that’s not exactly it. It’s not a husband who’s there. It’s you. You’re pointing all over the place, and it looks like you’re yelling out something.”
“That doesn’t make sense. I’m not…” That path, even if it’s just a possibility, is crazy. Miles is the superstar lawyer, not him. There’s no reason to think beyond that.
“ —Mystic Maya!” A young woman lifts up the tent’s flap. The newcomer’s eyes trail to Phoenix, then to the medium’s. “I’m so sorry to interrupt when you’re in session, but...”
Phoenix takes this as his cue to head out. “That’s okay. Thanks for the session, Ms. Mystic Maya.”
“Sure thing,” she responds. Instantly, the young woman is already beside Maya in conversation. Faintly, he picks up the words “sister” and “left” before no more words can be made out from leaving the space. Even with his sparkling curiosity, there’s no way he’ll be able to hear how that conservation plays out.
His mind swarms with thoughts, which he promptly kicks away. He can think about this later. The ramen should be ready by now, so he returns to the restaurant once more to pick up the food, and finally drives his way back home.
~~~
“Welcome home, Nick,” Miles’ voice greets him from somewhere in the apartment. Phoenix shuffles from the door’s hallway into the kitchen, the weight of the day settling in. Miles meets him there, and the sweet, small smile on his face instantly rewards him. Dressed down from the usual courtroom suit, the defense attorney is now wearing a maroon sweater and black slacks. His husband always looks good in red, and this outfit, even with its simplicity, is no exception.
Miles reads the label on the to-go bag, pleased. “Thanks for getting ramen, dear.”
“You’re welcome,” he moves to give a quick peck on Miles' cheek, then goes to untie the to-go bag and take out its contents. “I know you’re probably wondering why it took more time than usual, but I need to rip into this first. I’m starving.”
Miles lightly chuckles, “Alright, I’ll hold off my curiosity for now.” Helpfully, he goes to the cupboard and gathers bowls to transfer the soup. “What about work? Anything I should know about what happens with the mighty Evil Magistrate?”
“Once again, I’ve never seen a lawyer so careless about NDA,” he teases.
“Well,” he crosses his arms, “It’s a good thing I can defend myself, isn’t it?”
“Even with your winning streak, I am not gonna roll the dice with lawyers from Global Studios. They’re annoying enough as it is. Even if the actors’ husband is a massive nerd.”
He smirks. “Never hurts to try. I still remember when you slipped up and told me that—”
“ —And that was a mistake I won’t be repeating. Besides,” he takes the ramen and taiyaki to the dinner table as they sit down,“I'd much rather hear about you right now.”
“Well, the majority of it was pretty plain, doing post-trial paperwork. Von Karma was the prosecution, so you know how precise I need to be.”
Oh yes, he knows. Young and in the first year of licensure, Prosecutor Franziska von Karma has some sort of vendetta against Miles and his father-in-law. Although they’ve dealt with obstinate prosecutors before, according to Miles, her targeting of them seemed…personal. Gregory suspects it may be from the penalty he gave to her father 16 years ago, but for now it’s all conjecture. Either way, it seems like she has some issues with them, even going as far to say that she took on the Misty Fey’s case specifically to face them.
Miles eats a couple of noodely slurps of ramen before adding, “Although, towards the end of day, we did get a surprise visitor. Do you remember Mia Fey?”
“No way, really?” At his surprise, Miles lets Phoenix elaborate: he retells the story about the surprise festival, the wait-time, being unexpectedly called out for a Fey spiritual session, and the fragmented conversation he heard before leaving.
Miles thinks, arms crossed. “You spoke to a woman named Maya, correct?” At Phoenix’s affirmation, he continues, “I think I know what happened, then. The ‘sister’ they were referring to must have been Mia. I speculate that she had some responsibilities for the festival, but instead left for our office.”
“But why would she? Is the Fey family in some trouble again?”
“Quite the opposite. Apparently, my father’s defense of her mother last summer left quite the impression; she’s thinking of becoming a defense attorney herself.”
“Really? But, isn’t Mia in line to become the next master?” he asks, recalling how vital the order of succession was during the case.
“Who knows what she’ll end up doing? But, I have to admit, it’s nice to see someone take on a passion for defending. My father was a little surprised at first, but seemed open to the idea of helping her.”
Suddenly, a sentiment shoveled into the back of his mind from today comes back. Mia's situation hits a lot closer to home than he likes to admit. And even less something he wants to bring up to Miles. Miles loves his role as the Evil Magistrate, being one of his biggest fans (the size of his collection could have any hardcore fan a run for their money) and what could he even say?
But sometimes, just sometimes, something gnaws in the back of his mind that he wants to do more. That everytime he hears the back and forth of Miles and Mr. Edgeworth discussing, or the fireryness of the courtroom, there is an urge to join. How much he admires Miles and Mr. Edgeworth and wonders if he can do that too. But who was he kidding? This late in the game, go to law school? He saw how hard it is to study and pass the bar, hell, he still remembers the countless nights he spent with Miles doing flashcards, quizzing, and the stress of passing. Does he really want to go through all of that himself?
No— it’s too much trouble and too unpredictable. And the smile he brings to Miles every week when a new episode drops is priceless. It’s no question.
So what he says is only this: “Well, I wish her luck.”
~~~
Dinner eventually passes into TV down time, which shifts into getting ready for bed. With a nice shower and fresh pair of pajamas, Phoenix steps into their bedroom, his companion already done before him. Sitting up in bed with pink silk pajamas and a reading book in hand, Miles looks handsomely snug; the light of the nightstand’s lamp gives an attractive glow to his face in an otherwise dim room, and as Phoenix settles into bed, he can’t help but give a kiss to his husband.
Miles returns it for a bit, before retracting slightly. “I’m never going to finish this book at this rate,” he breathes, voice light and teasing.
His grin widens. “Well, in order for that to happen, you need to stop looking so beautiful. So, never.”
Miles roles his eyes, fond. “Flatterer.”
“Is it working?”
“Hmm. It just might. I do have to admit, the ramen and taiyaki was a nice touch.”
“Speaking of nice touches…” Phoenix snakes his arm to his midsection, tracing lightly, “I can do a whole lot more of it.”
Miles gives a small noise of approval, addicting and sweet as honey. He melts into the embrace, and discards the book aside onto the nightstand.
Everything else fades away, until it’s just them, and their happiness.
~
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The bed’s cold, his groggy mind puts together. Slow and carefully, he reaches a blind arm to the side of the bed, feeling if Miles woke up ahead of him this time. Miles’ job as a defense attorney often forces him to wake up earlier than he’d prefer, so he tries to sleep in a little more on his days off. Phoenix, as a natural morning person, can’t help but be the one who usually wakes up first.
Strangely, though, Phoenix doesn’t feel the warmth of his husband or empty sheets— he feels the edge of the bed. His eyes open.
…
…
…
What!!??
His head wildly whips around the room. This is not his bedroom. This isn’t his bed, and he sure as hell remembers coming to bed with Miles last night. Wait, where’s Miles!? He tumbles out, butt hitting the floor. Why does he feel carpet flooring?? Eyes frantic, his breathing is picking up and up and up and up and—
There’s a knock on the door. Then a voice. It’s unfamiliar as everything else. “Hey Daddy, hurry up and get your pancakes before Auntie Maya eats all of it!”
“W-who are you?” his voice croaks out.
A pause. The door creaks open. A teenage girl with brown hair and blue eyes meets him. Her cheery face quickly shapes into concern at his clear distress.
He backs himself a little more, back hitting a dresser. The girl steps into the room a little, cautious. “Are you feeling okay Dad?”
“Why are you calling me Dad? Where am I? And where’s Miles?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she stares him down, as if looking for something. “You’re not joking,” she says under her breath. “Well, I’m calling you Dad because you are my Daddy. This is our apartment and um, Uncle Miles is probably at work right now.”
“That doesn’t make any sense…”
“You don’t know who I am?”
He shakes his head. She makes some type of face, but it’s unreadable to him.
“Okay, well, I think you have amnesia. Auntie Maya—that’s your best friend— told me once that this happened to you before. Just stay here while I get her.”
He tries to latch onto the one thing he can make sense of. “No, no, I need to speak to Miles Edgeworth!”
“I’ll get my phone, just stay there, okay?” Before he can respond, she leaves the room. It’s only a moment before she comes back as promised, smartphone in hand. She puts the phone down into his view, witnessing her dialing up the contact under Uncle Miles.
“Hello Trucy, is everything alright?” Phoenix feels a increible wind of relief—it’s his voice!
“ Miles!” he cuts in. “What’s going on? Why aren’t we at home?”
“What are you talking about? And I believe Trucy was just about to explain what’s the matter.” Trucy…? Oh, that must be the girl’s name.
“Um, I think Daddy has amnesia again. He doesn’t remember me, but it seems like he remembers you, and he’s really freaked out right now.”
“That's so?” he says.“I’ll be there in about 30—no, 20 minutes. And Wright, just stay put. See you soon.”
The call ends before he can answer back. Why did he call him Wright? Nothing’s adding up, and all he can do for now is wait for 20 agonizing minutes.
“What’s going on?” Another voice comes from beyond the door. “Did I just hear Miles on the phone?” the voice is getting closer, “I still need to talk to him about the latest Pink Princess episode—” she stops, entering the room and witnessing the troubling scene.
It’s the girl from yesterday! Or woman? Although it appears to be the same person, she looks to be way older than he initially assumed. “You! Is this some type of prank?” Was Miles a part of this? He did seem to know who this Trucy is, but it would be tremendously out of character for him to pull a stunt like this.
Trucy quickly fills in Maya(?) on her assessment of the situation, that he has amnesia.
“But that’s not it! I know who I am. I’m Phoenix Wright-Edgeworth! I’m 25, and I met you for the first time yesterday and told you all that!” he points at her.
“Wait, say that again?”
“Y’know!” He describes their encounter yesterday with the shichishito-orb reading. “And after that, I went home. Then I wake up and I’m here!”
“You’re sounding as if…” Her eyes go wide. She rushes out of the room and promptly comes back, something in her hand. “Are you talking about this?” she says, showing the orb from before.
“Yes!!”
She thinks, hand in chin. Then: “Okay. I have a theory about what happened. It’s kinda out-there, but it’s the only thing that makes sense.”
Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door, and the brown-haired girl leaves to get it. It has to be Miles! Phoenix gets up from the floor and follows her, brushing past the medium.
When the door opens, several things rush through his mind in a second:
This is Miles Edgeworth. He knows his husband from childhood, adolescence, to adulthood. His beautiful gray hair, eyes, the sharpness of his face. It leaves no doubt that this is him— but it’s wrong. He’s too mature, there’s glasses where there shouldn’t be, and a thousand different indescribable smaller things about Miles that just don't match up to what he’s seeing.
It can't be. It has to be.
Because standing before him is certainly Miles Edgeworth—
—But not his husband.