Series/Disclaimer: Phoenix Wright/Gyakuen Saiban which I do not own.
Pairing(s): Phoenix Wright/Miles Edgeworth (Ryuuichi Naruhodo/Reiji Mitsurugi)
Warning(s): None.
Author's Note: Lawlz. New fiction. It's already finished, typed, and edited. But I'm uploading it throughout the next three days so the last part will be uploaded on my birthday. Because I dig effects like that.
Anyway. Yeah. New Miles/Phoenix one. I'm hooked on that pairing lately. Partially because it's epic - mostly because I'm in a roleplay with Natalie that effects my thoughts. But either way, I'm writing stuff for them lots at the moment. So expect some updates for them mixed in with the Daryan/Klavier ones.
This fanfiction takes place in (or a little after) the Apollo Justice timeline! Which means that unless you've played that game, probably all the way through, this will contain spoilers. Anyway! Enjoy!
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Four months he had been back in the country. Three of those months had been spent cleaning the Wright Anything Agency; and yet he'd made no progress. It wasn't entirely true – the main office was considerably lacking in magician's props then it had been. Trucy was astoundingly complacent with his organization and put all her props away every night after returning from the Wonder Bar. It was Wright who seemed less inclined to put his things away properly. Though, for all intents and purposes, this seemed due more to distraction rather than legitimate attempts to deter him.
But the main office looked considerably neater now so upon hanging his jacket in the hall closet, he took his first steps into the back office. He was immediately discouraged by the sight of two cots placed in the center of the floor, one sloppily made and the other untouched. It had occurred to him more than once by now to have Phoenix and Trucy move in with him but it wasn't set so firmly in place before he saw the pitiful bedroom the two shared. The second the moment felt right he would insist and the argument that may follow didn't matter.
This was simply no place to raise a teenage daughter.
Edgeworth started by making both beds and then pushing them to the corner for the sake of breathing room. Next he opened the window, allowing the delicate and slightly chilled spring hair to circulate. Within those two acts he was already feeling better about the situation.
Smokey gray eyes fell on a slightly ajar door that had probably been a coat closet but had been upgraded to a joint storage space for the two. Sure enough, the light revealed several of Trucy's dresses and Phoenix's meager and mismatched outfits, consisting mostly of sweat-pants and shirts. He sighed, half defeated, and proceeded to remove the hangers and lay the clothes over his arm. With nine dresses, two of which were red and too small and four of which were the right color but too large, a pair of old jeans that no longer fit Phoenix, three pairs of sweat-pants, and two sweat-shirts over his arm Edgeworth left the closet. He frowned slightly at the clothes he laid on Phoenix's bed before turning to Trucy's dresses.
Three of them had been modified to fit her current height and form, not including the one she'd worn to school that morning. Judging by the size, he could only assume that the red – which looked more like a dark salmon, really – were from her pre-teen days. He glanced around the room for an unused box but found the search quite hopeless. He considered trying to rearrange things and make one empty but there was limited room and all of them within his immediate sight were full. Maybe the closet. Deciding there was no harm in trying he back tracked, peering into the small space and scanning the floors for a suitable box.
Back in the corner, kicked haphazardly out of sight, was what he sought. Upon picking it up it felt light enough that he was sure he could fit the old clothes in it. Leaving the closet, he set it on Phoenix's bed and removed the lid but found that the contents caused him to hesitate and eventually sit down, shifting it into his lap for closer inspection.
Gently he lifted the familiar blue suit jacket out of its confines. The care put into folding it had been minimal but it was mostly spared of wrinkles. He set the box aside to lay the jacket across his lap, noticing the chill even through the material of his pants. His fingers brushed the buttons on the sleeves and a slight coldness ran through him that made his brow furrow. How many times had he stood so near Phoenix when he was wearing this jacket? Never before had it felt so void of life.
As he ran his hand over the material in a vain attempt to smooth it, he recalled the first time he had been close enough to feel the attorney's warmth through it. His hand pressed against the left lapel, remembering the faint feeling of the other's heartbeat as it pushed through bone, muscle, and skin to make its presence known. The feel of his chest heaving softly with laughter at Edgeworth's initial surprise at being pulled so close out of the blue. But that heat stood out more than anything else; that undeniable and natural warmth that he had was as vivid in his memory as if it had happened that afternoon.
However, the material under his hand was cold and as he slid his palm away, he noticed the small hole left there. Even though it was small, it was parted the material like a gaping wound that couldn't be stitched closed. Without that badge there it was painfully obvious, a mark for the entire world to see. It was almost pathetic, really, but that small golden decoration had symbolized all Wright's work and passion. Now, that hole stood with its own symbolism but for the emptiness of his disbarment. He was practically wearing a sign to the world that had been pinned there like a note on a child's shirt when they're sent him for atrocious behavior at school.
It's no wonder he tucked it away, Edgeworth mused, running his hand under the lapel as if confirming its existence by seeing a small part of his skin through the hole. His lips pulled into a hard frown and he removed it, going back to smoothing it out. The effort was pointless; he knew it, yet the action proved a decent proxy for his restlessness. He'd quite suddenly found himself inexplicably irritated.
His eyes fell back to the box, now unsurprised at finding the remaining pieces of the ensemble hidden inside. The red tie and white dress shirt were arranged with just slightly more order than the jacket had been. He found as he delved further into the box that the farther inside an item was the neater it had been folded. His theory would have been easier to confirm with more clothing, as the box contained only four articles of clothing and a pair of shoes. But he was willing to bed that Phoenix had began to lose his patience throughout the ordeal of tucking the suit inside.
After retrieving the shirt he stood up, turning to lay the suit where he had been on the bed. Putting it back in the box was entirely out of the question; he'd resolved that as he picked up the tie. It was smooth in his hands and he felt the memories flood to his fingertips as if he had just opened a photo album. The mornings he had spent trying it as Phoenix brushed his teeth, having woken up to find he had a half hour to get to a courthouse that was twenty minutes away. Untying it later that day after arms already encircled his waist and he was held close enough that Phoenix's warm breath brushed his forehead while he recounted his day. Sometimes he tugged at it, desperate to expose more of his skin as a small battle between their mouths stole part of his attention.
His eyes fell on the pair of old jeans that would suffice for little more than scrap material now. He tugged them from their comfortable spot on the hanger and let them fall to the floor. Judging that it was suitable enough, he picked up the blue pants and folded them neatly. Although Phoenix's latest choices of attire made him look quite dumpy, he hadn't put on much weight in the past seven years. If anything, Edgeworth would have guessed that he lost a few pounds. Holding up the pants, he didn't doubt for a minute that they would still fit. He hung them evenly over the bar and briefly flicked his eyes towards the closet. Reaching up, without too much stretching, he managed to hook it on the top of the open door.
The white dress shirt was soft under his fingers. He lifted it easily and drape it over his arm as he unfixed each button. It too carried memories that his mind was quick to resurface whether or not Edgeworth cared to think of them. His own laughter, embedded in the thought, caused a small smile to form. For the third time Phoenix had managed to miss a button in his distracted state, his mind more concerned with the trial itself than the problem at hand. His hair was still wet from his shower and hung, without gel yet not entirely void of some spikes, with some stray strands in his face. Edgeworth chuckled at his incorrigibility, walking over to take care of the task himself.
He replied to Phoenix's unease with calm absolution, eyes flicking up once he had finished to find a brown gaze settling on him. It was not completely shocked by his explanations but seemed more surprised with the ease he was able to recite them. But it only rested on him for a few seconds before thankful lips found his own. Such impulses had come to be anticipated form him, though, and the prosecutor was not left standing in a confused haze that time.
But things have changed, he noted and proceeded to button the shirt around the hanger, He's grown out of those impulses.
The statement was only lightly touched with regret and it was hard to where exactly it was directed anyway. Wright had, indeed, grown since that time and while some changed were less favorable the acquired maturity was not. There was a reassuring comfort in their relationship since his return, one that transcended the physical aspects that ruled their younger selves. Rendezvous weren't limited to courtroom passes that became intimate and he now sought Phoenix out not because of some hormonally driven desire but because he wanted company. A contented silence could rise between them that wasn't awkward with thoughts of who should make the 'first move'. They could talk and lay together on the couch without the underlying sense that they should have been 'doing something'.
It was a connection now, a bond far less fleeting than they had before. If anything his regret stemmed from his own distance for all the years. The lingering questions of if his apathy could have been avoided hung over his head like a personal Ghost of Christmas Past. Some days he wondered if he might have been able to prevent it. Not the disbarment but the change in Phoenix because of it. Would he have handled it better were he not standing alone?
Granted, the bond was weak now due to jaded experiences of both parties over the past few years and it was hard to call what they had an 'intimate' knowledge of each other. There was some strain that was brought out by certain situations and the new attitude that Phoenix had adopted was not one he found particularly attractive. The Phoenix he had left was warm and passionate about everything that he did, even if it didn't always have a connection to the law. But the one he found on his return was more like a walking grave. Not even a corpse, simply a mound of cold dirt like that thrown into a new cemetery hole. He spoke darkly to avoid true sentiments and had locked away those feelings that Edgeworth assumed to be impossible to stifle. It was strange and foreign but…he refused to believe that Phoenix was as dead as he wanted everyone to believe.
The attempt may very well have been useless but he had decided that trying to bring back the old Phoenix Wright would only crash and burn. His focus couldn't afford to lie in the past; if he wanted to make any progress then he had to worry about now. Constantly comparing him to the one he remembered would lead to absolutely nothing except frustration and pain; probably for both of them. But he owed Wright the effort…after all, it was him who had forced the weight of these useless emotions back onto him after that court case.
His hand fell away from the shirt slowly, his mind unwilling to part with the memory that it believed only contact could maintain. But he shook his head at his own foolishness and tugged the tie from off his shoulder to drape it over the neatly adjusted collar. Turning, he retrieved the final article - the jacket - from the bed and hooked it over the shirt. His fingers quickly addressed the buttons and tugged on the bottom softly to make it hang right. Instantly he resume uselessly trying to smooth out the wrinkles before making his hands stay down at his sides and he stepped back to scan over it once more.
Though the wrinkles wouldn't come out without an iron and the tie only hung there without a neck to be secured around, he was satisfied enough to return to his original task; a smile lifted lightly at the edges of his lips.