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When Miles Edgeworth left all his life behind him, he wasn't expecting the dreams.
The blue suit stays its back to him, motionless. Then it turns, slowly, and speak. You chose death, it says. You're not in my life anymore.
The ex-prosecutor suddenly woke up and sat on his bed. The silk bedsheets weren't enough soft to stop his uncontrollable shivers. His breathing echoed in the empty room, he couldn't see anything ; it was dark, just like in most of his dreams. How funny, he thought. I thought my nightmares would stop.
Stop after the chain of life-chattering events that had broken him. He thought that knowing he didn't killed his father was enough to stop the dark thoughts. That for the first time, he actually had friends.
It wasn't enough.
They couldn't see the shadow in his eyes or the weird tone of his voice. He was still alone when the night came, and the thoughts with it. When his brain whispered to him that he was a disappointment. When nothing in his mind was enough to prove the opposite.
He had thought that taking his life could be the thing he needed to do, and that it would stop the thoughts. That it would make the life of his friends easier - Phoenix Wright was the type of person always worried about something else than himself - instead of needing to apologise to them. Sorry I couldn't come, I was stuck in traffic. He was crying so much he couldn't stand up. Excuse me, I can't tonight, I have a lot of work. He wasn't able to see anyone.
A night, he wrote a message, impulsively. Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chose death. He looked at the words for a long time, his mind blank. He folded it neatly, and put it in his pocket. He wasn't sure why.
The morning after he was putting the paper on his work desk. His hand was shaking - or was it his mind ?
He had thought that his decision was made until he saw a small red keychain. He wasn't sure of why he focused so much his attention on it ; but a part of his mind suggested that maybe, somewhere, someone still cared about him. And that, even if it wasn't the right time, he still could stay a bit for them. For him, he thought. One day.
So he packed a few things, and went to the airport. He went to Europe. Nobody could recognise him, there.
The nightmares still were there, obviously. Taking too often the form of a dark blue suit.
The nights were the only moments during which he felt something. The rest of the day was numb. He ate, worked a bit, cleaned a lot. Wasn't going out except if he needed to. Wasn't talking except if it was necessary.
At the beginning, his phone was constantly buzzing. It mainly stopped, now. He was trying not to think about all the things he left behind. He wanted to start again. He wanted to feel something that wasn't pain.
_
He was in Europe since six months when his phone buzzed once more. The familiar name on the phone wasn't enough to bring him to answer, or even to move. Instead, he watched the phone moving a bit with the vibrations. When it stopped, it left a hole in the room. He cleaned his desk, neatly arranged the pillows on the couch. The hole was still here, but he was good at ignoring it.
Sometimes, he watched the news. Too often was it to see the familiar name on a solved crime report. His life is still going on, he thought, he didn't needed me. He still doesn't. He would then turn off the TV, and perfectly fold his laundry once more.
He sometimes saw his sister's name, too. She was continuing her perfect carrier. The day he learnt that she lost against Phoenix Wright, he was a bit surprised. But not that much. He didn't called her and she didn't called him.
_
After some time, he started to actually feel a bit better. It wasn't a lot, sure, but it showed when he went out at morning to go drink a coffee, or when he fell asleep fast because of his tiring day. He didn't realized it first, but it was comfortable. His life was slowly getting back in tracks.
He still didn't felt a lot of things. He wasn't really sad when he read a book, wasn't really happy when he watched a movie. He wasn't angry at Phoenix for stopping calling him. He was a little bit less scared of the future. But nothing is better than constant pain, isn't it ?
He almost stopped thinking about Phoenix Wright. He was taking less place in his nightmares during night, and in his mind during day. He didn't wanted to forget him, of course. He just wanted to try to get over him. For the better, he kept repeating to himself. For his good.
_
After a year away, he opened a drawer. Inside, a red coat, a grey vest, a white tie. Not red, he thought, burgundy. He smiled at the memory of the argument he had with Phoenix. It's clearly red ! was the man saying, and he responded Objection, it's clearly not red. He didn't know why he had opened the drawer or why he was now watching the suit with the ghost of a smile on his face. For the first time since a long time, he actually missed his life. There were some good moments. There were moments when he could forget all his problems. There was Phoenix Wright.
He took the tie in his hands and put it on, mostly by reflex. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. Despite his concerning look, he seemed almost like the man he once was.
He didn't even know if he wanted to be this man again. Maybe he could be someone new, with people around him who supported him and never were disappointed by his behaviour. Maybe he could call him, now, and hear his voice once again, through his phone, probably screaming at him and lecturing him, or maybe crying. Maybe a bit of three. Miles chuckled a bit picturing the scene, but didn't take his phone. It would be too emotionally tiring, too long, too guilt-inducing, too much. He needed to get ready for it. To think again about Phoenix Wright, not as a ghost or as a stranger, but as a real person. A friend, maybe. Not something more, but a friend would be enough.
A few days after, he packed his bags, methodically. He folded each piece of cloth neatly, organised them in piles by type. He didn't take everything in his flat, even if he hadn't a lot. After a year, it was still cold and impersonal. When he's gone, nobody would know he had lived here.
He booked a flight and went to sleep for his last night in this flat. He woke up with his mind blurry by his dreams. The blue coat came back, along with the darkness and the insecurities. He almost cancelled his flight in panic, but he forced himself not to. He had fled long enough.
_
When he left the airport, he immediately went to the Wright And Co. Law Offices, almost mechanically. He didn't know what to do once he would be there, and acted various scenarios in his head during the route. He started to really stress, but realised that nobody were there.
He took a room in a hotel nearby and put down his suitcases. He then left for the police's department.
_
When he saw Wright across the room, his mind went blank. A part of his brain just wanted to break down, here, and to cry on the man's shoulder until the entire world just disappeared. Another was scared, stressed, playing in repeat all the bad possible scenarios : Phoenix hated him, Phoenix forgot him, Phoenix didn't want to hear anything from him. His body was frosted here, imploring to run away, anywhere but not here, not in the same room as him. He stayed here, but breathed in, breathed out, stood up a bit more straight, lifted his chin up, until his faked composure was more convincing than a real one. He crossed the room, watched a bit more the man currently talking to Gumshoe. He didn't know what he was supposed to do, and his second of hesitation was enough for the man to see him.
He already saw a lot of emotions on the face of Phoenix Wright ; the man was very expressive, often comically so. But the succession that crossed the same face in a bunch of seconds probably beat a lot of records. Surprise, sadness, grief, anger, relief, then anger again, they all filled the eyes of the man at the same time, and Miles didn't know if he should wait for a hug or a punch. Probably both.
He stood there, awkwardly, facing Phoenix.
"I thought you were dead."
The sentence fell like a guillotine. Before Miles could say anything, Phoenix continued.
"During more than one year, I mourned you every day and- and- I blamed myself so much !" His voice was going up in crescendo. "I blamed myself because I didn't see anything, because I let you alone, and I wasn't there, and when I started to get as little peace as I could get, you- you show up here, and... I never wanted to see you again, Edgeworth !"
The words cut deeper and deeper into the prosecutor's heart. The last sentence was ringing in his hears like a guilty verdict, except this time he was standing behind the accused stand. He wanted to cry, to scream, to apologise, to leave and to never come back, but he kept his composure, silently thanking all of those years of forced self-control.
"I think that's enough of a "warm welcome" for someone you haven't seen in a year..."
The man in front of him froze. Miles knew that this wasn't the smartest thing to say, that it sounded arrogant, that Phoenix probably thought he was just a little bitch. That he should definitely just leave. He was, in fact, about to leave, when the attorney spoke.
"Is it... About... Von Karma ?"
Miles sighted, knowing exactly what the man meaned. "A lot of things may have happened, but he was still my mentor. And a "perfect win record" is proof of a Von Karma."
"...One year ago, you could not establish guilt in a few cases... Are those losses the reason you suddenly disappeared from the Prosecutor's Office? Did you leave because you had lost your "perfect win record"...?"
Miles stayed silent. He couldn't say anything, he was the guilty party in this case. No updated autopsy report could save him. He opened his mouth, trying to say that it wasn’t the only reason.
"You're- so selfish !" Phoenix's eyes were shining, filled with rage tears barely contained. "It'd been better for everyone if you never came back from the dead, Edgeworth!"
_
The hotel’s room was dark. Miles didn’t bother to turn on any lights before collapsing on the bed and staying like this for- he actually didn’t know, he didn’t look at the clock when he arrived. Probably hours, he could see the moon light through the curtains half drawn.
He was awful. He was an awful person, and he couldn’t be saved – he didn’t deserve to be saved, by anyone. He never did, but now, he fucked up his relationship with the only person who still believed in him – He probably didn’t, though. He probably never did. The voice in his head spoke, and Miles was too tired to not listen to it. Tears were boiling inside him, without ever coming to his eyes, he never cried. Never. But, fuck, he wanted to.
His father was dead, his mentor was in jail, his sister didn’t care about him and the man he loved hated him. He felt like he couldn’t move a muscle, and he stayed on the bed while the only noise audible in the room was his breath getting shakier and faster. And faster, and faster, and too fast – he suddenly felt like he was drowning in himself, the world disappearing around him, only his breath – too fast breath – and the dark with him, and he heard an escalator bell ringing in his hears, this noise he tried so much to forget, and –
He heard a knock, and realised a few seconds later that it was real, and not in the depths of his mind. He couldn’t move, tried to speak, nothing. He didn’t want to open the door, didn’t want anyone to see how he was, right now, miserable, pitiful, ridiculous, awful, unlovable, –
A second knock filled the room. Don’t enter, don’t enter, don’t enter. A third. Please, don’t see me like this. Don’t realise how pathetic I am, please.
A silence. Then the noise of a pushed doorknob, and the slow creak of the wood. No, no, no. He didn’t move. He didn’t hear anything, either.
Then a voice called.
“Edg- Miles ?”
The familiar voice send a shiver through his entire body. Why was he here ? Was it another hallucination ? Was it only to hurt him more ? To confirm that he was, in fact, pathetic ?
“Miles, answer me. Please.”
The voice went through the fog in Miles’ head once again. He couldn’t answer, because if he did, he was going to hurt someone once more, and he would be alone and he would have no other options than just leave – not by going in Europe, this time. It seemed to him that he shivered once again.
The mattress bounced a bit, like if someone just sat on it. Miles still couldn’t see anything, his eyes closed shut with all the might he had. His entire body was contracted. He didn’t think he was relaxed once in his life, but at this exact moment he felt like his muscles were turning into stone.
“Miles, I’m sorry.”
This voice again.
“I shouldn’t have – I wasn’t – listen, I apologise for snapping at you, yesterday.”
Yesterday ?
“I… I wasn’t in my right mind, and I said things I didn’t mean, and I’m so, so sorry if it’s what made you like… Like this.”
Pathetic. Made you pathetic. Even more than before.
“I’m so happy you came back. I was so scared that you… That you –“ Killed yourself “I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there when you needed me, and I understand if you don’t want to talk to me right now or ever again. I just… wanted to say that I’m sorry.”
The familiar voice slowly made the others disappear. Miles was tired, but he almost didn’t feel like a stone anymore. More like a wet orphan dog found in the street.
A silence, again. A long one.
“I think I’m going to leave, now…”
Please no
Don’t leave me here, please
Not alone
“Thanks.”
Miles couldn’t believe that this low, harsh sigh was his voice. How long did he stay like this ?
The silence almost made him think that the man was gone.
“Thanks for… What ?”
He wasn’t, actually.
“…” He wasn’t sure, he just needed to say it. “For… Keeping me alive.”
All he heard as a response was a soft gasp. He then decided that it was more formal for a discussion to be sitting, so he carefully tried to lift his head up.
A sudden migraine made him see stars.
Warm hands caught his shoulders before he collapsed on the bed once again. He shivered, and the hands immediately went away. No, please… He wanted his hands on his body, more than always. He needed his warmth to stay here, to stay grounded, to stay alive. He needed him.
He let out a soft noise, almost like a childish protestation. Anyone hearing this would probably mock him forever, but not that man – not Phoenix. Instead, he carefully took his hand and enveloped it in his. It was warm, and so soft. Miles wanted to stay in his hand forever.
Phoenix moved, to do what ? Miles wasn’t sure. He felt his body moved, too, gently pushed until he figured out how to send messages to his legs. At last, he was sitting way more comfortably, his back on a cushion and his head on – Phoenix ??
He felt his body tense up and Phoenix moved back in reaction. He tried to calm down, forcing his muscles to relax, while he grasped Phoenix’s hand like a lifeline – the man seemed to understand, and pressed his body against Miles’ in a reassuring cuddle.
Miles slowly felt the darkness come back, but it was a warm one ; he let his mind wander until it was way too foggy to think straight, and he whispered almost without opening his mouth, in a soft breath, “I love you.”
Before he let sleep take him without worries for the first time in ages, tightly pressed against the man he loved, he thought he heard, “Me too, Miles.”
He wasn’t alone.