Edgeworth has been stalled out in front of the mirror for nearly ten minutes now. It's ridiculous, he knows it is ridiculous, he is being ridiculous and Wright won't even notice what he's wearing, of course he won't. But no sooner has he convinced himself of this and started to turn away then he twists back towards his reflection and reconsiders his decision. Too formal? Not formal enough? He's wearing slacks and a clean white shirt but no tie, no coat, no jacket, no shoes, he's got to be wearing shoes, but Phoenix won't be and isn't it weird to wear shoes in the house?
Maybe they should go out. Isn't that more typical anyway, to be out somewhere special? But he's thought this through before, and the most important place he can think of for the both of them is the courthouse, and there is absolutely no way that Miles Edgeworth is going to propose in the courthouse. Or in front of the courthouse. Or anywhere close to or at all related to the courthouse. The whole point of this is that their relationship is more than that, after all.
So. The apartment it is, then, just like he decided a week ago. Nothing has changed. That's that. Except that he's leaning over the bathroom counter, not able to meet the reflection of his own eyes, on the verge of a full-blown breakdown about something so straightforward.
"It's not like he's going to say no," he points out, out loud, and thankfully the irony of his life does not kick in and bring Phoenix in at this moment. There's just the hot rush of embarrassment at the too-loud echo of his own voice in the otherwise empty space, and the beat of nerves in his pulse, and a curl of pleasure low in his stomach, anticipation of the way Phoenix's eyes will go wide with shock and his mouth will drop out and then curve up into a smile, the way he'll lean forward for a kiss and Edgeworth will tip in to meet him and…
"Fuck," Edgeworth spits, calm and clear, and looks up to glare at himself in the mirror. It's not as effective on himself as it is on other people, but he hisses, "Get it together, Miles Edgeworth," and the odd sound of his voice coming back into his ears off the walls straightens his spine and crushes the panic flat, and he tugs his shirt straight and strides out of the bathroom with more dignity than one might expect from a man just giving his reflection a pep talk.
Phoenix has case files spread out all around him, on the coffee table and the couch cushions next to him and spilling over onto the floor. Edgeworth flinches at the sight, as he always does, and when Phoenix looks up the defense lawyer cringes in apology before he even speaks.
"Ah. Hey there." Phoenix lifts a hand to scrub sheepishly at the back of his hair and Edgeworth's fingers itch to smooth the newly-ruffled strands back into place. "What's up?"
"Wright." Edgeworth tips his shoulders back and resists the urge to cross his arms in front of him. "I have something to ask you."
"Okay." Phoenix looks confused - as he frequently does - but he sets the paper in his hand down atop another pile, turning it off-center to distinguish it, and carefully leans back against the cushions. "What is it?"
"Stand up, please." It sounds more like an order than a request - Edgeworth can't quite wipe the strain of his nerves from his voice - but even though Phoenix's eyebrows pull together in confusion he just chuckles, "Okay," before maneuvering himself to his feet and carefully stepping over the strewn documents around him. His bare toes touch down on one before he shifts, leaving a creased imprint; Edgeworth is still flinching when the other man gets free of his paper cage and straightens in front of him.
"So what've you got for me?" Phoenix asks, looking up from the minefield under his feet to Edgeworth pinching the bridge of his nose.
"You're hopeless," he mumbles, and when he looks up Phoenix is grinning at him. Edgeworth doesn't know if the other man knows how devastating that lopsided pleasure is or if it's just accident that he breaks out the expression whenever it can best transform the prosecutor's frustration into resigned affection.
"Wright." Wait. That's not it. "Phoenix." The other man's eyebrows hit his hairline with shock - Edgeworth never calls him by his first name - but the prosecutor keeps speaking anyway, laying out the words like they're evidence before the other man has caught up to the debate. "I would like to formalize our relationship." Phoenix snorts on a laugh and immediately looks apologetic. That's okay. Edgeworth was more than half-expecting laughter. The next is the important part, anyway. "Would you consent to marry me?"
Phoenix's eyes go wide, just like Edgeworth expected, and his mouth drops open, just like Edgeworth expected. He blinks once, twice, and Edgeworth keeps looking at him, resisting the now very strong urge to fold his arms defensively over his chest.
Phoenix finally swallows, looks aside, and laughs sharp and surprised. "I was not expecting that."
Edgeworth can't help his own snort of amusement. "Good. You weren't supposed to."
"I guess not." Phoenix heaves a sigh, brings his hand back up to the back of his head, and tips his head down so he's looking up at Edgeworth through his lashes. "You want to marry me?"
Edgeworth cannot restrain the way his mouth twists sardonically, no matter how he tries. "Do you have any objections, Wright?"
Phoenix cracks into startled laughter. "Ha! No." His hand drops, though he keeps his head angled down. "No, no objections." The words are supposed to be funny, Edgeworth knows, but they come out soft and gentle and tingle down the other man's spine like a touch.
"Is that a yes?" he asks, just for utter clarity, and Phoenix brings his head up and laughs like a bell.
"Yes. It's a yes." His forehead creases at the repetition, but then his mouth curves up into a smile and the concern melts away. He stuffs his hands into his pockets, awkward and clumsy in his own skin, but when he leans in Edgeworth is expecting it, and tips in to meet him halfway.