Always

The café was eerily quiet.

To the tired prosecutor, it was a pleasant change. His ears basked in the peace of that late Friday; it felt quite different, he noted gladly, from what the place had gotten him used to.

He had never deemed himself that much of a regular. However, the memories of his short lunch breaks were filled with the yellowish hue of its walls, and he had to admit he had long lost count of his visits.

All things considered, it was an enjoyable place. Not as quiet as he would have liked, for sure — but the time on his hands was little, the service good, and the food tasted excellent for such a reasonable price. At lunchtime, more often than not, he would find himself sitting at the loneliest table he could find, while the bustle of the usual working days seemed to follow his steps.

Even in the rare times he stopped by in the afternoon, the café looked like a quirky extension of the courtroom lobbies. Today, his trial had dragged to a much later hour than usual; it was nice, and regrettably rare, getting to enjoy his tea without it all. The colourful swarm of voices and manila folders was hushed, almost dispersed in the vapour from his cup, and the constant flow of hungry attorneys had considerably toned down.

To a devastated Miles Edgeworth, the atmosphere had felt too inviting to pass up the opportunity of a relaxing tea. He did not regret it in the slightest. In the warmth and the comfort of his seat, the sounds began to drift away, in an increasing jumble of sleepiness.

He was just considering the option of never leaving again, when a dazzling flash of blue caught his attention from the nearest table.

He did not need to reflect on what to do; choosing whether to catch his attention or keep quiet was no use. Phoenix Wright had developed some kind of sixth sense when it came to his whereabouts. It went exactly as expected — it didn't take him five seconds to turn and notice whom he was sitting next to.

Without concealing a broad grin, the defense attorney nodded in his direction. Even so, he did not move any closer. He said nothing, and went back to facing the empty seat on the other side of his table.

Miles smirked. Through the years, his friend had grown more and more familiar with the concept of personal space. That was definitely something he appreciated.

"Good evening to you too, Wright," he said jokingly. "I don't bite, you know. You are welcome to my table, if sitting next to me doesn't stress you out too much."

Phoenix jumped to his feet, caught between an apology and a smile, and nearly tripped on his chair as he hurried to the prosecutor's table.

Old habits really die hard, he thought, in a sudden rush of affection.

"I wouldn't want to spoil your evening," Phoenix laughed. "It's been a long day for us both, I guess, and I know how much you like having me around."

"Oh, really," Miles replied. "Need I remind you how often we meet for coffee? If you really annoyed me that much, by now your hair would be flat from me smacking your head every time."

"Maybe you want to, but you don't. Because of my fearsome spikes."

"You do have a point."

Phoenix giggled.

"In that case, hello, Edgeworth. It's good to see you."

A serene silence reigned over the table as Phoenix went to get his coffee. The prosecutor thought of his past, when relaxing had been completely out of his plans — let alone spending his free time with someone, and with that man to boot. A younger Miles, not many years before, would have deemed it impossible.

Yet, countless things that had looked impossible back then were happening now. And he enjoyed them, and they felt natural, fitting perfectly in the order of the world.

"I trust you had a good day," he said softly, as Phoenix returned with a steaming mug. "How did the trial go?"

"Not very smoothly, that much is for sure," the attorney sighed. "But it was quick enough."

"Unnecessary complications? Where from?"

"You can guess," he answered gloomily. "When I took the case, my client told a bunch of lies. I knew it was out of fear, of course. But…"

"Still relying on Psycholocks, I see," Miles taunted him.

"You used them," Phoenix protested. He was smiling broadly; the tension of the long trial had clearly washed away. "Well, the murderer was a sloppier liar than him. It was a crime of passion. It took us very little to make her spill the beans."

Although the strain was evident in his eyes, he looked satisfied. Smiling fondly, Miles shot a quick glance at his watch.

"It is getting a bit late, Wright," he said. "Won't you have your traditional celebratory dinner tonight?"

"Not today," Phoenix grimaced. "It is about time Maya learnt to respect my wallet."

The prosecutor couldn't help laughing quietly. It was a rare sound, and Phoenix was always glad to notice he felt this at ease in his company. It still startled him a bit — if in a good way.

"What about you?" the attorney asked, fiddling with a stray lock of hair that fell on his tired forehead. "How was your trial?"

"I lost," Miles answered quickly. The shade of bitterness had almost vanished over time; but the hint was there, probably eternal, and Phoenix lowered his gaze. "Really, I am glad I did. Hadn't I been careful enough, that disgrace of a man would have fooled us all. He almost got away with that testimony." His shoulder were touched by a shiver. "Almost."

The memory of the long day clouded his mind for a while. He could see his own line of reasoning unravel again, step after step, in the depths of his amber drink. That had been so dangerous — he had almost let a guilty man go free as an innocent witness. He inwardly cursed the prideful instinct of victory that his education had imposed on him.

He no longer fought for his verdict, of course; he fought for the truth, and he always had something, and someone, to remind him of that fight.

And yet, sometimes, it still betrays me.

Lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed the soft chuckle that came from the other end of the table. Phoenix's cheek rested heavily on his hand; all of a sudden, his eyes were swarming with countless things. Miles' darkened expression morphed in a silent question, and his friend's face immediately rose to meet his gaze.

"I am sorry," Phoenix said hastily, ever tactful. "I really wasn't laughing at you. I was just… thinking. Remembering. This bring back memories — we are in a special place, after all."

A smile that seemed endless blossomed on his lips, and Miles furrowed his brow. The whole situation did stir something at the back of his mind.

Perhaps…

"It was our first trial together after- after that," Phoenix added, and the fragments of his memory came back one by one. "After Iris was freed. A while later. We met here afterwards, and all the things we said- do you remember?"

Miles dismissed the hint of anxiety in his voice with a quick wave of his hand. There was no longer need to let fear in their conversation — they were way past that. Then again, those reactions were more than enough to make him feel guilty.

I am not that bad anymore, Phoenix — am I?

"I haven't forgotten, of course. I am still young enough to keep track of things, Wright," he said, a bit dryly. "Besides, it is not something I would let go of easily."

"Sorry," Phoenix replied, laughing nervously. "I know you better than that. It is just… you used to forget things pretty often. Things about me, or Larry, or all of us. I thought you wouldn't want to hold onto some memories, and really, I can't blame you."

Despite his best efforts to hide it in the shadows of the evening, the look on Miles' face spoke of pure regret. He would have given anything to hide it from his friend; yet, some other part of him desperately needed Phoenix to see. It was only fair, his consciousness insisted. It was long due to him. They had left behind every trace of a lie ages before — the time had come to leave nothing unsaid.

"It is not like that, Wright," he said, in all seriousness. "Some things… some facts, you just don't forget. They are important traces. Mementos, if you will. That was an important moment to you, just as much as it was to me. "

The attorney nodded, his eyes full of emotion. In all the time they had spent together, it had rarely been this clear how much Phoenix cared for him — his gaze was so intense, the prosecutor felt his breath catch in his throat.

"You do remember that time, probably better than me. The memories of that case… Maya's case… are not good ones for me, either. And I am positive," he muttered, "you also remember in what conditions we both were when I arrived."

Phoenix blushed furiously. He still felt guilty, if genuinely moved, about the way Miles had suddenly travelled back home.

"I came back in a rush," the prosecutor continued, his eyes distantly fixed in the sunset. "I can't even tell what I felt myself. It was all I could think of at the hospital, when I was told you were safe — it had been such a close call. Your life had been in danger, and even then… after I knew for sure you would live, I was genuinely worried about you."

Phoenix had closed his eyes, his mind drifting to those painful moments. It took them a very long time to meet each other's gaze again.

"When it all came to an end, it felt like sleepwalking for days. Everything had… slowed down, so to say. Something had broken, as if- as if the universe had stopped working the way it was meant to. And then, facing you in court-"

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing, Wright," he snapped, his voice full of genuine concern. "There is nothing to apologize for — you did not hurt me. You never did."

Miles had never looked that serious in his life, and that simple fact spoke volumes on its own. Phoenix knew the meaning of it — over the years, the sense of Miles' gestures and words had grown crystal clear to him, to the point that they no longer needed explanations for almost anything they said.

Once again, Phoenix chose to trust him, and let him speak with a sad smile.

"Facing you in court helped my journey back to reality. I am glad it was not a case of great importance — that obviously did better for our sanity. I may have looked hurt when we talked again that day, and yet… believe me, there was so much more. All of it was difficult, unclear, terribly confusing. From that afternoon, I knew I had to sort it out."

The attorney's face was full of attention. The quirky lighting of the café made it stand out in a curious way — it had the charm of deep realization, and of a delicate awareness.

Phoenix knew this was a turning point in their lives. Today, here, he was going to make the most of it.

"Was it then," he asked delicately, "that you decided to leave again? Those six months?"

"I will be honest with you, Wright," Miles said bitterly. "For a while, before that, I considered never coming back. I did not have much to keep me here, or so I thought. But then… that call came along. In the very same moment I boarded the jet, a slow process of realization began."

The prosecutor's words flowed with ease, without any more fear to hold them back. The difficulties, the emotions, the obstacles that were still there to slow him down — nothing was stronger than his need to tell, in that day that was coming to an end. Their thoughts were blending in the dimmed lights, and the scent of ice cold tea.

They left behind the rest of the world. It was the moment of more than one truth.

"While in flight, I thought of it constantly," Miles murmured. "This was never the place to leave behind. This was where I was meant to be. I had tasks to fulfill, places to visit, people to be with. And then, when I set foot in Europe that year, for the first time in my life, I knew I had somewhere to eventually return to."

Dozens of images tinged his memory at once. There was the icy German winter, and the wind that blew from the mountains — the way its breath stung his skin, every morning, on the way to work. The long hours in his enormous office, so vast, so cold, even to him. And he saw the thousands of pages he had read by the fireplace, the net of ideas, convinctions, needs for change. He had studied for so many reasons.

All along, the anticipation to close that long cycle had been there.

"I thought of several things while abroad, you know," the prosecutor continued. "I thought of everything I was learning there, and all that I had experienced here. I thought of us — the way we worked together in court, how smoothly it went, and how much faster the flow of the trial became. That is mostly what I worked on back there; that is what I do now, every day, in the quiet of my office. Looking for more than one way… to turn our legal system in something more effective."

"Teamwork."

Phoenix's voice had sounded so far away when completing his thought. The growing loneliness of the café had left behind the aroma of dinner and coffee; from the windows, the lights of thousands of rooms filled an inky night sky with yellow dots. It was a dreamlike moment — surreal, yet truer than any other time of day.

They sat in silence again, for several minutes. There was no need to speak further.

"That was supposed to be top secret," Miles eventually said, smirking. "How careless of me."

The silence was broken like a spell. It was subtle and wordless, yet Miles noticed; his friend looked happy enough to make the whole situation feel unreal.

"It's been four years since then," Phoenix reminded him. "Four years since we sat at this very table."

Miles had not remembered that detail; even so, Phoenix's face was still clear in his memory. Everything clicked back into place.

"I am so glad to see how much has changed."

Miles took some slow moments to himself, to observe that miracle of a man happen in front of him. It left him speechless, how his body language matched his thoughts — this was a time of recollection and exchange, and the fierce shine in his eyes told all about it. He was circling the edge of his mug with his fingers, deep in thought; but everything in his face promised his would be words of joy.

"I never expected you to leave, you know," Phoenix said, his voice affected by deep melancholy and contentment. "Something in you had taught me better. I always waited for you to come back — in a way, I knew you always would. Even…"

"…then," Miles muttered, his hands shaking slightly. He was clearly alarmed by the idea, and the attorney got ready to stop whatever was beginning to haunt him. "You- we don't have to talk about that, if…"

"No," Phoenix interrupted, his voice rife with sincerity. "It is fair. For both of us."

Miles lowered his eyes, with the distinct feeling of having his mind open like a basic textbook. There was a long silence.

Psycholocks cannot exactly read thoughts… right?

"We can talk about it all some other time, if you want," Phoenix said carefully. "Sometime better, or easier, if you will. In any case, that is mostly the point. I never fully believed that note. There was a side of myself that kept my patience and my hope alive. Yes, it is true — I never wanted to see you again. To the end, however, that same part of me refused to agree."

"How?" Miles whispered, his fingers digging in his brow. "How did you manage… to suffer through something like that?"

"I lost count of the times I told you long ago," the attorney answered, the same shine in his gaze as seven years before. "As long as I am given the chance, I will never stop believing in you."

And the landscape in Phoenix's memory, on the other side of the world, was sunny and hot — it was populated by skyscrapers, ever grazing the horizon, seen from a grey office in a maze of concrete. That scenery came to life with many people and many passing days. Visits and investigations, words of encouragement and hope, as the inhabitants of a frantic town all waited for a change. That was what they all needed, he thought; new beginnings, unexpected turning points, to see their lives under a revolutionary light.

The two of them had never been different than anyone else, really.

"In the end," Phoenix concluded softly, "we both had something to wait for."

"So it would seem."

In front of his friend's earnest gaze, Miles couldn't help smiling.

Nothing had ever lasted that long for him; he had had his happiness crushed, his principles erased, his convinctions about himself rewritten one by one.

But this, he quietly told himself, had to be what having a friend for life truly meant.

"I didn't know it was this late," he muttered in horror, staring at his wrist. "I apologize, Phoenix. I should really take my-"

"What?"

They both froze, making sense of what had just happened, as the seconds struggled to tick by. In slow motion, Miles saw a huge grin take over Phoenix's face.

"What did you just call me?"

Surrendering to himself, Miles let out a patient sigh, and let his hand rest firmly on Phoenix's shoulder.

"That was what we were talking about, wasn't it?" he asked gingerly. "Things change."

"Yes," his friend nodded, his voice full of a deeply surprised happiness. "Yes, they do."

Phoenix's smile was so wide, spread in the blue of his eyes, that Miles almost forgot about the darkness of the night outside.

Things did change in time, that was true — but there were things that, no matter what, never did.

And that, he thought, was wonderful to see.

A shamefully belated birthday gift for one of my dearest friends. With love, to you and all the life-changing people you brought along.