Chapter Text
The case was over.
And yet, somehow, they were both still here.
Phoenix leaned against the courthouse balcony railing, tie loosened, hair doing whatever the hell it wanted. The sun was bleeding out across the skyline in streaks of gold and rose, but Phoenix’s brain hadn’t slowed down enough to appreciate it. Too much cross-examination still buzzing in his bones.
He heard the telltale click of expensive shoes behind him and didn’t bother turning.
“Took you long enough,” Phoenix said, casual. “Thought maybe you'd escaped through a window.”
“No need,” Edgeworth replied, his voice cutting as ever. “You already stole my thunder in court today. I figured I might as well lose with dignity.”
Phoenix smirked. “That wasn’t losing, that was a tactical retreat.”
“It was embarrassing.”
“For who?”
Edgeworth didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped up beside Phoenix, arms crossed like he was trying to will himself into being colder than the summer air.
They stood in silence for a beat. Just long enough for Phoenix to start feeling that familiar itch — the one that said this is comfortable, but maybe dangerous too.
“I’m surprised you didn’t bolt the second the verdict hit,” Phoenix said. “You usually vanish before the confetti even settles.”
Edgeworth gave him a sideways glance. “What can I say? Your insufferable presence has a certain... gravitational pull.”
Phoenix raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Did you just admit you missed me?”
“I said no such thing.”
“I think you did, actually. Just in like... Shakespeare.”
Edgeworth sighed through his nose. “You’re as exhausting as ever.”
“And yet,” Phoenix said, flashing him a grin, “you’re still standing here.”
Another silence, but this one felt heavier. Like neither of them knew quite what to say next — or maybe they did, but were too stubborn to go there.
Edgeworth broke first. Of course he did. He always broke first — but only when no one was looking.
“You... did well today,” he said, barely louder than the breeze. “Despite your usual theatrics.”
Phoenix blinked. Compliments from Edgeworth were rare, and usually wrapped in a layer of barbed wire.
“Wow,” Phoenix said. “A compliment and a backhand in the same sentence. You really are in a generous mood.”
Edgeworth looked away, like the skyline was suddenly very interesting.
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“I’ll try,” Phoenix said. “No promises.”
They stood there again — in the weird space between friendship and rivalry, between banter and something heavier. Something they never said out loud.
Finally, Edgeworth muttered, “Do you always have to make everything a joke?”
Phoenix looked at him, really looked at him, and the way Edgeworth’s jaw was set — the tightness in his shoulders — made something twist in his chest.
“Only when I’m scared,” Phoenix said.
That got Edgeworth to turn.
Phoenix shrugged, gaze drifting skyward. “It’s easier. You make it hard to... talk like a normal person.”
Edgeworth scoffed. “You’re one to talk about normalcy. Your courtroom strategy today was half evidence, half divine intervention.”
“And still more effective than shouting ‘Objection!’ in increasingly creative tones,” Phoenix shot back.
Edgeworth gave a tight smile. Almost a smirk. Almost.
“I suppose that’s true.
They both went quiet again. The sun dipped lower, throwing shadows across the marble floor.
Phoenix exhaled slowly. “So. Are we just gonna stand here trading insults until one of us combusts, or are you gonna ask me to dinner already?”
Edgeworth blinked. “What?”
“I said,” Phoenix repeated, all faux-casual, “are you gonna ask me to dinner, or am I gonna have to put on a cravat and do it myself?”
Edgeworth opened his mouth. Closed it. Then looked very deliberately at the horizon like it personally offended him.
“…You’re impossible,” he muttered.
Phoenix grinned, triumphant. “That’s a yes.”
Edgeworth sighed. “You’re paying.”
“Nope. You owe me for emotional damage. I had to listen to you say something nice.”
Edgeworth groaned like he was in actual pain. “I take it back.”
“Too late. You’re already in too deep.”
“…Why do I even like you?”
Phoenix’s grin faltered—just for a second—but then came back, softer.
“Still trying to figure that one out myself.”