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Cold was the first word that came to his mind when he was offered tea by a certain bluffing, blue attorney. Cold tea. And Miles Edgeworth hated it.
It was green tea, which was already a kind he didn’t reach for frequently. But what made it worse was that it was pre-brewed, and packaged in an aluminum can. Apparently, Phoenix had picked it up during one of his annual grocery runs, claiming proudly that they were “only a dollar a piece,” as he took it out of the fridge. Miles just hoped that it didn’t taste like it cost a dollar. God forbid he had to drink not only iced tea, but bland tea, too. Phoenix spilled the can’s contents into a coffee mug, and Miles crinkled his nose as some of it leaked onto the countertop. He then watched in horror as Phoenix popped the mug into the microwave. Yes, the microwave. Now that was ridiculous. Who uses a microwave, of all things, to warm up tea?
“I know it's not what you’re used to, but here.” Miles mustered a polite “thank you” before taking the cup from Phoenix and swishing the liquid around. Bringing the rim of the mug up to his lips, he took a cautious sip. As he expected, the microwave did little for the tea's benefit. And its flavor? Subpar at most. Then again, he couldn’t complain. Not when he knew that his dear friend already had so much on his plate.
He recalls about a month ago, stopping dead in his tracks as he read an article’s title in bold, black letters.
“Defense Attorney Phoenix Wright Caught Presenting Forged Evidence In Murder Trial.”
He remembers letting out a laugh of some sort. Clearly, the newspaper company must’ve made a printing mistake with this one. He analyzed the copy he received on his doorstep, examining it for any signs of tampering. Flipping the paper over, he skimmed through the other news stories that were featured. The latest political drama, weather forecasts, a crossword puzzle near the end—nothing inherently suspicious. While still skeptical, Miles turned the newspaper back and directed his attention to the small subhead underneath the massive banner.
“Mr. Wright, dubbed ‘The Turnabout Terror,’ has been accused of fabricating evidence in the trial of Zak Gramarye. The Japanifornia Bar Association will hear the grounds for his disbarment by the end of the month.”
See, since studying abroad in Europe, Miles had often found himself feeling homesick. To remedy this, he signed up to have The Japanifornia Times’ newspaper sent to where he was staying so he could fill in on everything happening at home. Who would’ve known that the first edition he’d receive would come bearing such hapless news? Well, fake news, Miles thought. Because there was no way that Phoenix would ever do such a thing.
Yet, as he found himself in front of his apartment door—he hesitated. What was he even doing here? He knew it was all bullshit. I mean, this was Phoenix Wright for crying out loud! The same man who taught him to fight for the truth, not the guilty verdict. But he just—needed to see it for himself. He needed to see that Phoenix was fine. That he was still a defense attorney, and Miles, a prosecutor.
So, he raised his fist to give the door a couple of knocks. Four of them, to be precise. When it seemed like his efforts had fallen on deaf ears, he went to ring the doorbell, which had some wires sticking out of it (was he about to get electrocuted..?). Just as he was about to, however, the door flew open rather abruptly. His vision quickly tried to adjust to the bright, incandescent lighting inside. And once it did, it was clear to Miles that what he read in the newspaper was anything but fake. The two men stared at each other in shock. Phoenix stood in front of him in a baggy zip-up hoodie and equally baggy sweatpants. His hair—admittedly—had seen better days. It was still in its usual spiky get-up, but messier and disheveled, and some stubble had started to grow on his face. Nevertheless, Miles still thought he looked as dashing as ever. Minus the unidentified stain on his shirt.
An uncomfortable silence lingered between them for a while. For a moment, Miles figured that he should just apologize. Turn around and catch the next plane back to Europe. Perhaps he caught Phoenix at a bad time. It was late, after all. Maybe he didn’t want to talk to Miles right now. But then he saw Phoenix’s expression morph into something that he could only describe as a mix of melancholy and relief. A smile plastered itself on his face, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Whether he couldn’t or wouldn’t let it—Miles wasn’t sure.
“.. Hey.” Phoenix says, shrugging his shoulders.
Miles emits a soft chuckle at that. “Hello, Wright.”
And that’s how he found himself sitting on a sunken-in couch, drinking cold, store-bought tea.
He fixated on his suitcase, which was positioned near the front door upon his arrival. A conspicuous hissing noise of whatever cooling system was installed in the room echoed off the walls. Miles mentally cursed himself for not thinking this through well enough. As soon as his plane landed, the only thing he thought about was calling a cab directly to Phoenix’s dwellings. He hadn’t even bothered to book a hotel or anything to stay in for the night. He could always leave immediately after this, yes–but why waste all that money chartering a private jet?
His thoughts were interrupted by Phoenix taking a bottle of grape juice out of the cupboards and pouring himself a drink. “Sorry, this place is such a mess. Just got done eating dinner.”
Calling his place a “mess” could be an understatement depending on who you ask. In the kitchen, some dirty dishes were still stranded in the sink, spotted with marinara sauce. Meanwhile, a frying pan and a boiling pot were left on the stove, hopefully with the gas switched off. The living room Miles was currently in itself was scattered with an array of paraphernalia—a deck of playing cards, some crayons, and a salmon-pink top hat, to name a few. Phoenix sat down on the opposite end of the couch and slumped against the armrest. Miles hummed in understanding and rested his cup of tea on his lap.
“It.. looks very lived in.” Phoenix guffaws at his remark, and Miles follows suit.
Both of them went silent once the ruckus died down. Phoenix took a sip of grape juice from his glass before speaking again. “Y’know it’s always good to see you, Miles.” The prosecutor perked up instinctively at the mention of his name.
After the incident with the burning bridge happened, Miles thought to reach out to Phoenix more often whenever he could. For the short amount of time they could spare together, they’d talk for hours over the phone about their respective days. Another absurd court case Phoenix had to take care of, a new international law Miles learned, or whatever the hell Larry was up to now—anything to keep the conversation going. It seemed like near-death experiences had their way of rekindling old friendships (or even old flames, Miles could say). He was pleased to know that he would always have a friend in his corner. Several at that. Though he would never admit it out loud.
“Yes. I am mildly aware of that–”
“But what are you doing here?” Phoenix interjected. “You’re supposed to be on the other side of the world. Enjoying your life and driving around in your little red sports car.” He nearly says.
Miles narrowed his eyes at him, his brows furrowed in mystification. “Wh.. What on earth do you mean by that?” He puzzled. “I’m here to see you.” Obviously.
Phoenix says nothing, contributing to the awkward tension surrounding them. Since entering the apartment, Miles could probably count the number of times Phoenix looked at him properly on one hand. It was blatant that he was avoiding any form of eye contact with him. Actually, it appeared as if Phoenix was itching at the idea of kicking him out and telling Miles to leave him alone.
Edgeworth slams his mug on the coffee table in front of them a bit too harshly—to both of the men’s surprise. Miles felt himself get hot under his collar as Phoenix raised an eyebrow at him. “..Ahem. Well? How are you?” Miles huffed. “Surely I didn’t fly all the way over here for nothing.” he deadpanned.
“Eh, you kinda did.” Phoenix chortled. Initially, it sounded like he would segway into some kind of a joke, or make another snarky comment of his. But then he bit the inside of his cheek somewhat ashamedly . Mirroring Miles’ previous actions, he too set his glass down on the table and sat upright in his seat. He twiddled with his thumbs, picking at the skin near his fingernails periodically.
“I assumed you heard, but..” he falters faintly in his wording. “ I’m not exactly a lawyer anymore.”
Ah. Miles was afraid he’d say that.
Honestly, what did he expect? Deep down, he knew Phoenix’s fate was sealed even before he read that dumb headline. Now that he had confirmation of it, he was simply glad that his friend hadn’t been thrown out into the streets. Or worse—tossed behind bars.
“..I see.” he mumbled. “I.. suppose they mentioned it in the newspaper.”
“Huh. People still read those?” Phoenix mused.
“Urk! Of course , people still read the newspaper, you!—“ Miles shook his head. “Never mind.”
The now former defense attorney cackled. “Aw, I’m just teasing you, Miles. Relax. ” he ribbed, propping his elbow up on a back pillow and leaning into the palm of his hand.
“Relax? Wright, you were accused of a crime.” Miles inched further down the couch to where Phoenix was sitting. “ You lost your job. How are any of us supposed to ‘relax?!’ ”
Phoenix goes quiet almost instantly. Sensing Miles’ sternness, he downed what was left of his glass of grape juice to take the edge off. Following his disbarment, you could say he’s done nothing but “relax.”
When the council members of the Bar Association deemed him responsible for the forgery, everything stopped. A distinct ringing persisted in his ears, and his sight went blurry at the realization that he had just lost everything he’d worked so hard for. With one, singular bang of a gavel, his entire career was over as soon as it started. Dragging his feet down the steps of their headquarters, he was greeted by a crowd of news reporters, shoving their microphones and flashing their cameras in his face. They badgered him with a countless number of questions, trying to get answers from him. Beyond the flood of journalists, a gathering of civilians screamed profanities at him, calling him a disgrace to the law. A criminal. It wasn’t until he was able to make it to his apartment that he noticed tears were flowing down his cheeks.
Every day since then just seemed like a new opportunity to wallow in his misery and regret. He thought about Maya, his loyal assistant who had stayed with him through all the colorful cast of characters and life-threatening experiences they faced. He thought of Mia, the mentor who taught him to force his biggest smile even in the toughest of situations (though he wasn’t sure if he could do that this time around). Most of all, he thought of Miles, his reason. He could already imagine the look of disappointment in his eyes, or him baring his teeth in anger at his stupidity. He couldn’t stand it, and Phoenix decided right then and there that he would be better off left in the dark.
But now he was here. With him. With no trace of indignation on his countenance—but compassion and sympathy instead .
And it irked him.
“You think I don’t know that?” he scoffed. “I’ve been replaying that damn trial in my head over, and over, and over again for the past month . Thinking about what I could’ve done differently—what I should have done differently.” he lamented, clenching his jaw tight. “The entire country thinks I’m some dirty, no-good, crook for something I didn’t even do!”
Miles frowned. It pained him to see Phoenix so overcome with bitterness. He laid his hand atop his in consolation, not minding how his face flushed. Miles soothed, “We’ll think of something, Wright. Whoever was behind this must be brought to justice. We need to uncover the truth-”
Phoenix swatted his hand away. “Don’t you get it, Edgeworth? It’s done, okay? Let it go.”
“No!” Miles retorted. A pang of guilt washed over him. To think that he allowed Phoenix to stay in this state of dismay for so long. “ I.. I could have helped you—You should’ve told me you were in trouble!” he cried.
“And what makes you think I wanted you here, anyway?” Phoenix tilted his head and smirked at Miles in a spiteful manner. The latter’s face contorted in outrage.
“.. Excuse me? ”
“Yeah! You heard me!” he fumed. It baffled him just how much Miles kept on pushing. At the same time, he wouldn’t expect anything less from the demon prosecutor. “I don’t need you, Edgeworth—and I definitely don’t need your pity either!”
Miles pinched the bridge of his nose and huffed in exasperation. The both of them had officially begun to shout at each other, and Miles was certain that the neighbours would hear all of it. “ Phoenix,” he started. The said man shut his eyes closed at the use of his first name, as if telling him not to call him that—especially with such desperation .
“This isn’t pity I’m showing you. It’s concern,” Miles drawled as calmly as he could. Still, there was a firm rigidness in his tone that couldn’t be brushed off. “ I know this is hard, and it may seem hopeless now—but you have to understand! I only want to help you, truly! ” Phoenix scanned Miles up and down in contempt. Does this man ever give up?
“My god, Edgeworth..” Pity, concern, to him— it was all the same. Phoenix chose what he wanted to say to Miles very carefully, aiming to take the most jabs at him rather than finding any form of logic in his argument. “ Why do you care so much?!” he scathed.
“Because I care about you!” Obviously!
. . .
The room went still. By now, the two of them were standing, their chests heaving in unison. The walls were suffocating. Phoenix’s lips were slightly parted—and Miles could hear how heavy he was breathing. They stared at each other in bewilderment, like they were unsure of who said what. Phoenix walked away first, rubbing the back of his neck remorsefully. Miles gulped as he averted his gaze from him. Did he really just tell him that? The brunette paced around the living room, ran his fingers through his hair, and tried to focus on literally anything else other than the man in front of him. To distract himself, Miles tapped his shoe against the ground. The steady beat of his foot on the hardwood floor was the only thing they could hear, a welcome change from all the yelling.
Wait. Hold on. The only thing?
That was when Miles realized. That weird hissing noise— it stopped.
The click of a door unlocking caused the duo to whip their heads towards the source of the sound. Quite unexpectedly, a little girl with big blue eyes was standing in the bathroom doorway. That wasn’t the air conditioning making the noise; it was a shower. She wore a t-shirt about three sizes too big for her, along with a pair of men’s basketball shorts. Oh my goodness, what has Phoenix been dressing this poor kid in? A towel over her shoulders soaked up the water that dripped from her light-brown locks.
Miles blinked furiously, believing he saw a ghost.
“Daddy?”
…What.
Phoenix responded straight away, rushing to the child’s side and crouching down to her level. “Trucy..” he mouthed, his voice barely above a whisper. Trucy stood on her tip-toes and peeked past his form. “Who’s that?” she asked, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “ Why were you fighting?”
“We..” Phoenix trailed off, glancing behind him to catch a glimpse of Miles. He gawked wide-eyed at Trucy, frozen in place. She didn’t look much like Phoenix, and she couldn’t have been older than ten. “..It was.. a friendly debate.” Phoenix scratched his ear.
Miles folded his arms across his abdomen. Seriously ?
Trucy—ever the smart girl—took none of it. “Daddy, you’re lying!” she pointed an accusatory finger at him. “You scratched your ear when you said that. That means you’re lying.” she scolded. Miles could already tell he was going to like her.
Phoenix sighed. If Trucy had to be by his side during one of his past court trials, he would’ve lost within seconds. “Fine. Yes, we were.. fighting ,” he acknowledged, “But it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s alright now, Truce.”
“And how about..” she signalled at Miles—who still had his arms crossed, switching between looking at Trucy in confusion, and Phoenix in frustration.
He swiftly moved into a more proper and presentable posture, arranging his collar and the wrinkles in his coat. Clearing his throat, he thought about how he should introduce himself. Should he go by Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth? Or perhaps just Mr. Miles Edgeworth? Would that be too difficult for a child to say? Well, maybe not this one. She did have ample diction for someone her age. Maybe just Miles would suffice. But they haven’t met until today, would it be considered rude not to let her address him by a courtesy title?
“Trucy, this is Miles Edgeworth.”
What would he say after he gave her his name? Should he tell her his hobbies? His favorite color, favorite food, or favorite time of day? What about the type of music he listens to? If he prefers dogs over cats? Ugh, in actuality, this is starting to sound more like he’s filling out a job application than talking to a tween. He never was good with kids–
“He’s my best friend.”
…Oh. Miles guessed that could work too.
“And Miles, this is Trucy. My daughter. ”
Phoenix guided Trucy over towards Miles. She happily ran up to him, got up close, and inspected him like he was a statue at a museum—making Miles relatively self-conscious. Stroking her imaginary beard, she then grinned widely. “Hi!” Trucy bubbled. She extended her arm out, urging him to shake it.
“Hello, Miss Trucy.” Miles gave her a solid handshake, and she giggled violently. She complimented his choice of fashion, particularly his cravat. Phoenix tried to muffle his own giggles at that, to which Miles shot him a killer glare. Trucy then went on about herself—the things she enjoyed, the things she hated, and everything else in between. She liked to do magic tricks, even going so far as to perform one for Miles. Her favorite color was the rainbow, but pastels specifically. She loved noodles, and was most productive in the afternoon. Her interest in rock ballads perplexed Miles; wasn’t she, like.. six? To her, cats and dogs were equally adorable, but Phoenix would never agree to let either roam around the apartment. It was an information overload, to be frank. But a nice one.
“Okay, I think that’s enough for tonight.” Phoenix declared. “Why don’t you go to bed, Trucy? Miles and I still have a discussion to get to, yeah?”
“Aw..” She pouted. Way to take the sparkle out of a child, Wright. Trucy begged her father for a few more minutes, but Phoenix had already ushered her into the bedroom before she could fully convince him. As a last resort, she held onto the door frame, resisting Phoenix’s efforts to push her in. The scene was extremely domestic as it unfolded , albeit chaotic. Like Miles, too, had been a part of this family for years, despite only knowing Trucy for an hour at most. Once Phoenix was able to confine his daughter to the comfort of their shared bedroom, he tensed. Trucy’s shining light was gone, and an elephant in the room remained.
“Miles–”
“Wright–”
The two spoke simultaneously. They beamed at each other before breaking into a fit of tranquil laughter. It's in moments like these that Miles is thankful to have Phoenix, no matter how much of a headache he gives him on a daily basis. Because in the end, they laugh about it. They laugh about it like it never happened. He could irritate and vex him all he wanted, but Miles would be as still as a rock.
“I’m sorry, Miles. I shouldn’t have said all those things to you.” Phoenix confessed. “This whole fiasco kinda just.. fucked me up? I thought you’d be mad at me, so I– I got mad at you first, if that makes any sense..”
It really didn’t to Miles. But not everything he did needed to have a sensible motive behind it, he assumed. Miles himself recognized that he made dubious choices with clouded judgment. That was the funny thing about humans—they were rarely ever rational.
“Oh, I am mad at you.” he spat. Phoenix bowed his head in shame. “For not notifying me of your disbarment,” Miles took slow strides towards Phoenix, his hands covered in a thin layer of sweat. “And of your newly-found daughter,” he added, mere inches away from the man he loved.
“And for being so foolishly ignorant of how I feel about you.”
Phoenix looked up at Miles so fast he swore he must’ve gotten whiplash. His eyes were practically bulging out of his skull; it was comical. This had to be a dream, Phoenix thought. How long did he picture this day in his mind? How long had he spent yearning for Miles’ affection? A decade or so? He couldn’t fathom that it was finally, finally happening. He stayed slack-jawed for a while until Miles shook him out of his inner ramblings with an awful snort.
“I-I’ll explain everything. I promise..!” he swore, interlocking their fingers with one another. “But it’s a pretty long story, so you’d have to stay the night.” Phoenix breathed. Miles sneered amusingly. When had this man gotten so bold?
Luckily, the couch doubled as a sofa bed that Miles could doze on, and he had a change of more casual clothing in his luggage that could serve as sleepwear. It wasn’t five-star hotel material or anything, but it satisfied Miles’ basic needs, and that was enough for him. After washing the dishes, taking a brisk shower, and a much-needed catching up, both of them retired to their separate resting places—but not before Phoenix troubled Miles for a kiss goodnight.
In the morning, he was greeted by the invigorating smell of citrusy bergamot and floral fruitiness. His eyes fluttered open to find a fresh, hot cup of Earl Grey sitting on the coffee table.
Now, this was tea.