It was the ridiculous smirk that he constantly paraded to the courtroom that initially drew your eye. He was a snob- or so you had gathered- and it suited him well. His arrogance rarely was overshadowed by the defenses claims of false testimony, his regal air seldom deteriorating under the gaze of the questionably sound mind of the judge.
There were a great many things that you admired about him. Physically speaking, however, the first thing to draw your eye after his tall stature, were his hands. They were large, but not grotesquely so. He had elegant hands, void of callous or mar. His fingers were long and slender, perfect for pianos, although you didn't know if he could play. The strength he showed while in court, slamming them down on the bench, let you know that he was no weakling- no simpering snob who was in this for the money. Although his car would've lead you to believe otherwise at first.
He was sincere in his work. You'd heard ghastly rumors of falsified evidence, "updated" autopsy reports, and the hiding of important evidence, but you'd never witnessed any of it for yourself, and his record was far from pristine by the time you'd gone against him in court.
He'd repeated again and again that he was going to find the truth- the justice- although, perhaps not in so many words. It was months before you caught a glimpse of this particular facet of Mr. Edgeworth. He'd always been a closed off, glaringly evil prosecutor, and you'd no reason to talk to him outside of the courtroom.
So it was quite surprising when you found yourself longing to go up against him court, just to see him. Just to observe and get to know the enigma that was Miles Edgeworth a bit better.
He was quite the mystery, and you were never one to keep yourself from a good mystery.
Every utterance of the word, "Objection" from his side of the room made your heart pound. And you realized, it was for two very different reasons. One, of course, was because he was about to shoot down a piece of your evidence, but the second reason is what alarmed you even more. You loved the sound of his voice when he exclaimed the word aloud. It was the one word he'd always said in court that held the utmost passion, and perhaps that's what had your heart thrumming.
Over the course of a year, you'd learned more and more about the prosecutor, just through everyday, normal conversations. It was a cold day in January when Phoenix and you had met up for lunch, and Edgeworth had somehow made an appearance in conversation. Phoenix told you about Edgeworth's father, and the case that changed his life- and at the time, you didn't notice that your heart had somehow created it's own little place for the man.
You'd forget about him for a week, and then when you'd notice him walking across the courthouse lobby, you'd wonder what he was up to, or where he was going.
The only time you ever really spent any sort of time thinking about him, was when you were forced to battle it out in court... and those few instances where you'd said good morning, and he reciprocated.
You were somehow slammed into a state of mind that had you enamored with his eyes, the way he'd stare at you while he was speaking, the way the light reflected off his always perfectly styled hair.
It was frustrating to say the very least. You were here to defend someone! Not make goo goo eyes at the man who was trying to send them to prison!
It was a day in late August, you recall, that had been the tipping point. You blame the heat, and the fact that the air conditioning had gone out in the courthouse (because, why wouldn't it? The universe was just out to torment you wasn't it?) And you walked into the room teeming with sweating individuals, all desperately fanning themselves with whatever they could find.
You removed your jacket, un-buttoning the vest you usually wore beneath, and undid two of the top buttons on your white blouse.
That's when /he/ sauntered in. As regal as ever- except today? You were in big trouble.
He'd forgone his jacket as well, folded his white sleeves up to his elbows, and unbuttoned his black vest as well. His cravat was no where to be seen, and you assumed it lay wilted on his office desk. He'd also unbuttoned his shirt, just enough to make out the beginnings of his collar bone.
He was utterly handsome.
You'd zoned out for the first five minutes of the trial, trying to organize your thoughts and feelings, attempting to get yourself back on track. You had a case! This was not appropriate behavior!
Your mouth went dry in the sweltering humidity, and it was becoming more and more difficult to take your eyes off of him.
"Ms. (l/n), would you like to cross examine the witness?"
It took hearing your name come from his idiotically perfect looking lips to throw your train of thought back on the tracks. The entire court was staring at you, because you'd obviously had been mentally absent when the judge had asked the question.
Mr. Edgeworth had to be the one to break you from your reverie.
"Ah, yes-" you shake your head clear, forcing yourself to look away from the slender slope of his neck.
A blush rose to your cheeks in embarrassment.
It wasn't long before the trial was over- Mr. Edgeworth coming out with a clean cut victory. It wasn't that you didn't try to defend to the best of your ability- it was that your client was indeed guilty of the crime, and the incriminating evidence proved too much to be argued with. Especially with an Edgeworth at the bench.
You were berating yourself for acting like a love-struck teenager as you left the Defendant's lobby that afternoon. You barely knew the man! Get a grip!
But there was this nagging feeling, something that you'd never felt before, eating away at your stomach.
It was like your heart knew something that your mind didn't. Like fate or destiny was about to jump you from behind- and yet, you couldn't understand how that could be.
"Ms. (l/n)," You heard come from behind you, and you ground your teeth together before turning and smiling.
"I must say, that you are quite a proficient attorney-" Mr. Edgeworth said, his voice so deep, yet airy at the same time. He was using a file folder as a makeshift fan.
"Ah, thank you Mr. Edgeworth," you reply, thankful that your voice decided to come evenly, "but it was I who lost the case today."
"Nonsense, justice was served, and that's what we are intended to foresee."
"More or less," you agree, trying to ignore the sudden feeling of awkward permeating the already stuffy lobby.
"Would you like to join me for dinner?"
The question startles you, simply because you'd never thought this would happen. Nor did you believe he would be so bold as to come out and say it so quickly.
"I know of a nice little cafe-" he continues, eyes darting to the floor for a moment before a mischievous smirk plays across his lips, "And I know for a fact that they have air-conditioning."
Who were you to turn him down?
Like I said, I literally had to FORCE myself to write. So- sorry if it sucks.