"I'm sorry, I have somewhere to be, so you'll have to excuse me. Congratulations once again, Chief Prosecutor Skye."
His farewells to his clients are normally not so curt, but Miles has decided to make an exception, just this once. He leaves Lana and Ema to celebrate in peace and slips away to the Witness Lobby. Gumshoe is there to take Lana back to the detention centre; his presence is no longer required.
There's someone he needs to talk to, anyway.
Just as he suspected, Phoenix von Karma is packing his documents into his briefcase, having refused to keep them neat and organised throughout the trial itself. He's always been messy; it's good to know some things really haven't changed.
"Edgeworth."
"Ah - hello." Miles flexes his hand nervously, resisting the urge to grab his elbow, and curses himself for being nervous in the first place. He's known Phoenix - he refuses to call him von Karma, not after That Trial - since he was nine, there's no need to be anxious around him, but his ability to just know Miles is there without even looking at him is unnerving.
"How is Chief Skye doing?"
"Better, now the trial's over." Oh, he's making small talk specifically to make Miles squirm, the bastard. He knows how much he hates dithering.
"Good."
Phoenix doesn't ask anything else, which is almost worse than small talk, as he crams the rest of his files into his briefcase and closes it. Or, tries to. It won't quite shut properly, pages of documents sticking out and refusing to let the clasps snap into place. Phoenix swears under his breath, pounding on the case like that will solve his problem, instead of simply rearranging the files.
"It won't close like that," Miles says. He steps forward. "You need to move some things around. Here, let me-"
"Why are you here, Edgeworth?"
Miles stops. "Beg your pardon?"
"You heard me. Shouldn't you be with your client?"
"I…" Miles swallows. He didn't actually plan his side of the conversation out. "I wanted to see how you were doing."
"Oh, I'm fine," Phoenix laughs. His voice is strained. "Just found out my superior has been setting me up with forged evidence this whole time - you know, the one thing I told myself I'd never do - and I might get disbarred because of it, even though I didn't know because she hid it from me, so, y'know, I'm dandy, absolutely fucking peachy-"
Miles winces and puts his hand on Phoenix's shoulder. Phoenix immediately falls silent. "That wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known."
Phoenix snorts. "Tell that to the inquiry committee."
"I'm sure they'll be able to see reason-"
"Will they?" Phoenix barks a laugh. He turns to face Miles and puts his hands behind his back, like he always does when he's trying to hide his discomfort. "You would think that. Tell me, have you ever stood before the inquiry committee before? Ever watched them look down on you like you're fresh blood in the water? I've pissed off a lot of people on that committee, Edgeworth. They've probably been waiting for this for a long time."
Miles has no idea how he's supposed to respond to that. He squeezes Phoenix's shoulder in lieu of an answer, even though he knows it's not enough.
"Perhaps this is for the better," Phoenix sighs. "I… I don't know if I can keep being a prosecutor anymore, anyway."
"... what?"
"You heard what Gant said in there. 'You despise criminals, just like me. We're the same.' I don't trust myself to believe he's wrong anymore."
"I do," Miles says firmly. "You would never-"
"Wouldn't I?" Phoenix's voice is sharp, bitter. His face is twisted in pain, like it was during That Case, and it makes Miles' heart ache. "Don't you remember the Hawthorne case? I ate glass for her. She tried to pin a murder on me, and I loved her enough to eat the one piece of evidence the prosecution needed the most. Her lawyer almost got her off the hook because of me! If that's what I do for love, then-" His breath catches- "then I don't want to know what I might do for a criminal."
"But you promised you wouldn't cross that line," Miles says desperately. "You said so yourself, so you wouldn't-"
"I've already crossed that line. Now that I know, who's to say I won't do it again? Or go a step further? Who's to say I won't wind up just like them?"
Miles desperately tries to think of something, anything, to say. Hearing Phoenix talk about himself like this hurts, and he doesn't know how to stop it. Once again he finds himself cursing his lack of social skills, and wishes he could understand people the way Phoenix can. He's certain if their roles were reversed, Phoenix would know what to say.
"You're not like them," is all he manages, in the end.
"No," Phoenix concedes. "Not yet. But I refuse to let myself be backed into that corner. If I can't trust myself to stay away from that line, I need to remove myself from it altogether. Don't you see, Edgeworth? My word means nothing anymore."
Miles falls silent, running Phoenix's words over in his head. It's no use, he doesn't think there's anything he can say to convince Phoenix he won't be rotted by corruption.
Well, if he won't accept testimony, Miles will just have to provide evidence.
"I can prove you won't turn out like them," Miles says quietly.
"Wha- don't be ridiculous, that's not something you can prove-"
"Of course I can. Don't you know by now I have evidence for everything?"
Miles pulls out one of the documents he'd carefully folded into his pocket, one he hasn't had time to put away properly yet. Phoenix raises an eyebrow, but takes the document. He skims over it, then glances up at Miles.
"Is this-?"
"My half of the evidence list."
"And this proves your point how?"
"Gant said you can't fight on your own without cheating," Miles explains. He hopes, desperately, that his explanation will suffice. "That you'll need a weapon if you intend to fight alone. And maybe that's true. But you don't have to fight alone. You… you have me. Just like I have you. We wouldn't have been able to win today if we didn't each have one half of that list."
For once, Phoenix is silent, turning over the document in his hands with a thoughtful look. His face goes carefully blank when he hands the document back to Miles, but he hopes he's not imagining that glimmer of acknowledgement in his visible eye.
"There, you see? We don't need a weapon - you don't need a weapon. Not if we have each other."
"... I don't know if I'm willing to risk relying on the defense for support every time, Miles."
Despite the pessimistic words, Miles' heart leaps in his chest. Phoenix hasn't called him by his first name in so long.
Without thinking, he raises a hand and reaches for Phoenix. Phoenix's eyes widen, but he doesn't flinch away or try to stop him. Instead, he allows Miles to brush his bangs away from his face, pushing them back into the style he had as a child. One stubborn lock flops back onto his forehead, but it's not long enough to obscure what Miles really wants to see.
Phoenix's other eye.
His striking, bright blue eye.
"You're not wearing your contact lens," Miles notes quietly in surprise.
Phoenix shifts, his shoulders tensing, but he doesn't pull away. "... didn't have time to find one this morning. I figured my hair would be enough to hide it."
Miles wishes he wouldn't. He likes Phoenix's eyes, likes the contrast between piercing blue and gentle brown, and he hates that von Karma ever made him feel ashamed of his eyes, like they were a flaw, a mark of imperfection, to be hidden away under bangs and coloured contact lenses. He yearns for the day Phoenix decides to forgo both shields, decides to bare his eyes to the world and let everyone see their beauty. Let the world - let Miles - see the unguarded emotions that belong in those eyes, the eyes of the most brilliant legal mind Miles has ever had the privilege of knowing. The eyes currently blinking up at him, hesitant and unsure but so, so captivating after years of not seeing them.
The eyes are the window to the soul, and Miles wishes Phoenix wouldn't hide his away in an attempt to make people forget he has a soul. Wishes he would allow people to see his fire is still bright, still burning, refusing to go out completely, despite the multiple attempts to extinguish it.
He wants everyone to be able to see that fiery soul burn brightly in both of his eyes.
"Miles," Phoenix breathes. His hand curls around Miles' wrist, but he makes no attempt to remove his hand. He doesn't look away for a second, doesn't duck his head or close his eyes to hide the perfect "imperfection" Miles has loved ever since he was a boy. Instead, he stares straight back into Miles' own eyes, lacking the confrontational challenge he's grown so used to seeing, but still full of… something. Emotion still brimming in those beautiful mismatched eyes, like they used to, like they always should have. This close, Miles can see his own reflection in Phoenix's eyes - and since when did they grow so close?
Tentatively, Miles lets go of Phoenix's bangs, sliding his hand down to his cheek. A few strands flop back into place, but most of it stays pushed back, leaving his eye free from those pesky obstructions.
Phoenix leans into Miles' touch, a small sigh escaping him. Those gorgeous eyes flutter, sliding to a half-lidded gaze, but they don't close, don't take away the sight he's wanted to see for so long now. Miles' lips part, perhaps to say his name, perhaps to do something else-
"Hey pal!"
And just like that Phoenix is gone, ducking away from Miles' hand, bowing his head to conceal his eye as he quickly fixes his bangs back into place. The shield is up, swiftly and expertly hiding away his so-called flaw before Gumshoe has even fully entered the room.
"Oh, Mr. Von Karma! I didn't think you'd still be here, sir!"
Phoenix flinches ever so slightly at the name. Gumshoe doesn't seem to notice.
Miles does.
"Yeah, well, I had some things I needed to put away." Phoenix slams his briefcase shut, snapping the clasps into place before it can think about springing open again. Some documents are almost certainly crumpled in there, but Phoenix doesn't seem to care. "I'd like you to take me back to the Prosecutor's Office, if you don't mind. I have some… things to tie up."
"Yes, sir!" Gumshoe salutes him, then glances at Miles as though he's only just spotted him. "Oh! Congratulations on winning the case, Mr. Edgeworth!"
"Ah, thank you." Miles flushes at the praise, even though he's heard it many times now. "I'm just grateful we managed to catch the true culprit."
"Yeah, it was-"
"Gumshoe," Phoenix cuts in. He grabs Gumshoe by the arm and drags him away. "Prosecutor's Office. Now."
"Oh. Of course, sir."
"Feel free to stop by my office for a celebratory dinner, if you like," Miles calls out to Gumshoe's retreating form. "I'll pay."
"Sounds good!" Gumshoe calls back.
And then they're gone, leaving Miles alone in the lobby.
He can only hope he's finally gotten through to Phoenix.
Not even a week later, he's hunched over on the floor, gasping for breath, his father's urgent whispers of comfort drowned out by the ringing in his ears at Gumshoe's tearful words.
"Prosecutor Phoenix von Karma chooses death."