"Social services informed about your...condition." Von Karma taps his cane on the ground. Miles looks down. His heart is suddenly throbbing in his head. "Look at me when I speak."
"Traurig," Miles says softly. German sounds harsh. Unfamiliar.
"Already brushing up on your German, I see." He chuckles. "You are my son, little Edgeworth boy. Von Karma boys are perfect. If you measure up to that perfection, you shall have whatever you wish."
Son. Boy. Perfect.
"Danke," Miles says, even softer now.
The letters start coming four years later. Miles is thirteen. His chest is flattened with the cool, smooth nylon garment Von Karma bought him. It's approaching the fifth year since it happened, but he still cannot call Von Karma father in English. 'Vater' is easy enough, because for Miles it has no meaning the way 'father' does.
The kids at school call him Miles because they have never known him as anything else. His new sister, Franziska, does not question that his body is more like hers than is it like the body labeled 'Junge' in their anatomy book.
Dear Miles,
I finally got the right address! Larry did a lot of digging for me. Anyways. Today I got a binder for the first time! It's so soft and it's like I don't even have any chest at all! My mom was so happy that I was happy. Larry said I looked like a million bucks, then quickly started apologizing and said not that I didn't before.
I wanted to buy one for you, but packages are expensive and so are binders. I hope you have one. I miss you
Love,
Phoenix
Franziska sits next to him in the doctor's office. He'd passed this year with flying colors, A's on every paper, and Von Karma had agreed to this as a reward. Miles watches silently as Von Karma fills out papers and tries to ignore the ache in his shoulder where the syringe poked through. There's a pink bandaid on it now.
Miles wonders if he'll grow facial hair overnight. If he suddenly will wake up and his voice will be rich and deep. He figures it's best not to think about it. To pass the time, he rips open the green envelope he'd received in the mail last week. The only mail he ever gets. Phoenix Wright. Odd that Phoenix would wait an entire two years before writing again, but Miles' heartbeat speeds up as he pulls the notebook paper out.
Dear Miles,
It's been a month since I started testosterone therapy. My voice sounds funny and I have to do weird exercises. I hope I don't start going bald. If you go bald, please send me a picture in the mail. I'd pay to see that. I'm so happy, Miles. I think my chest is shrinking already. (Funny how nobody wants to say the word 'breasts.' Even in this letter no one's gonna read, I'm embarrassed.) I'm in LGBT club at school and it's fun. I met a girl who's like us too. She's so nice.
Are you okay? Does your new family in Germany like you? Did I mention I had my first kiss? Don't laugh but it was with Larry. It was kind of a joke but kind of not. Nobody calls me my birth name anymore. I always think of you when I hear my name, because we picked them together, you know?
Love,
Phoenix
Eighteen.
The year when you can do anything. The year when suddenly your body is yours, your thoughts are yours, and you are legally allowed to be you.
Miles' chest hurts. This time, he isn't using 'chest' as a euphemism for his breasts, because he doesn't have them anymore, his entire chest just aches. He's not allowed to touch it, and he imagines in all reality it's probably a little mangled, but he can't help but imagine the feel of smooth, soft skin.
"Brother." Franziska's English is heavily accented, and everything she says sounds like a command. "There is a letter for you in the mail. I will dictate it to you, since you must stay lying down."
She needs some help with a few words, but as Miles listens he feels himself both cracking a smile and simultaneously tears forming in his eyes.
Dear Miles,
You won't believe this! Miles, Miles, Miles! I'm so happy! I'm writing this in the hospital, and while I'm probably not supposed to write, I just have to tell you! I just finished the surgery we both always dreamed about! Miles, I've come so far! I'm so happy! I'm sorry this letter is so short but the nurse will be mad if she catches me doing anything other than lying down.
I wish you could be here with me. We always said we'd get it together.
Love,
Phoenix
He's there, standing across from Miles with a stack of papers in front of him, chewing on the top of a pen and sweating bullets while the court talks among itself before the judge gets there.
He's beautiful. His hairline seems to have suffered a little from the male pattern baldness effect, but it's cute. In a way. He looks sharp in his suit and his shoulders are wide and strong.
They don't have to write letters anymore.
Honestly, this is kind of a deeply personal piece for me because headcanoning Phoenix and Miles this way makes me feel much better about my own identity. The idea of them being happy with themselves eventually makes me feel much more hopeful and secure about my own future as a trans boy, so. Yeah. No one reads the author's note.