Edgeworth sat in his car, blank.
Staring distantly ahead over the dash to where the headlights on the car illuminated the back wall of his garage, his mind tumbled frantically over upon itself, desperate to catalogue all of the information from the day. Images, words, sentences, phrases, tastes, breathless stuttering, plans, obstacles… His consciousness was a whirl of kinetic energy, ruthless in its attempts to make sense of the last twelve hours. Soon, the headlights timed out and dimmed to darkness, leaving only him and the quiet serenade of the engine settling, clicking and tutting as it tucked itself in for the night. He blinked once, twice, and wondered where he was going to find the energy to get up and into his house.
Well, that certainly wasn't how I expected that to go…
Blue eyes flashed vibrant and sad across his memory and he clung to the image for a moment, digesting the emotions that it brought about. He was oversaturated with it all, marveling for a moment at how chaotic it felt to simply feel, and he wasn't entirely sure that he was adequately equipped to deal with it. Admittedly, life had been much easier when all he had to worry about was getting people sentenced and neatly filed away in prison. Still, he supposed, the night's events had ended up in his favor one way or another, and it was a wonderful problem to have. The ambient sounds that emanated from his car had finally quieted, signaling to him that he should probably get to settling in for the night, himself.
He pulled his coat, photo, and briefcase out of the back seat and exited the car mechanically, setting the lock with the touch pad on the door and fishing out the key for the basement deadbolt. The muted sounds of Pess waited for him on the inside and he smiled impulsively, listening to the gentle taps of her claws on the tile floor. Ever grateful that she wasn't a noisy dog, he made quick work of the lock and swung the door open, chuckling at her excitement to see him despite the late hour. There had been a time where he had truly believed that only she could love him despite all of his indiscretions, but now… As he knelt to stroke her head in greeting, he sighed.
"I think I may be putting the cart before the horse, Pess," he murmured to her and stood, much to her disappointment. He swiftly cut his thoughts before they could run any further, before they could develop into any sort of optimistic predictions. It was too early for that. An image of von Karma drifted into his mind, severe and towering, as he drilled a younger Miles on trial procedures one winter morning. His voice was deep and intimidating even in memory, reverberating through his head as if it had been yesterday.
"Never assume that you have won until you've already received your verdict," he could still hear the sound that the bull whip had made on his desk and he flinched at the violent crack that had landed upon his body countless times, "a victory is never assured until the battle is over, which is why we must constantly strive toward perfection. Anything less must be considered a complete and utter failure…" He closed his eyes and swallowed against the memory, irritated that they still haunted him even now. It would figure, he mused, that von Karma wouldn't settle for being disregarded, even after his conviction. Distantly, Edgeworth wondered if the man was even still alive. A pang of guilt rippled through him at allowing himself to think such a callous thing about the man who had effectively become his father, but still…
After all the things that von Karma had instilled in him, he was comfortable acknowledging that the cons had outweighed the pros in the end. He wouldn't go so far as to wish ill of him, but he wasn't exactly inclined to reach out to him, either.
A deep, quiet boof took his attention and he glanced down, surprised to see two empty bowls and a sad dog. "Ah, sorry…" He hung his coat on the hook near the door and took the bowls over to the small kitchenette in the basement, wondering why it was so easy to apologize to his pet but not his closest friends. As he filled the stainless-steel bowls with kibble and fresh water, he spoke over his shoulder. "I guess I stayed out later than I had intended this evening. Something happened with an old acquaintance—ah, an old friend of mine." The bowls made a soft, metallic sound as he set them down and he watched Pess drink sloppily.
He wondered what people would think of him if they knew that he held his best conversations with his dog. He knew that if he had found out the same information about anyone else, it would be his first instinct to ridicule them, to suggest that perhaps they were insane for thinking the animal could even understand, much less respond. The acknowledgement soured his thoughts and he shook his head, disgusted with himself.
Was it so bad, he wondered, to find a friend in a creature that couldn't talk back? Ever since he had taken in the stray that they'd found nearly two decades ago and, trembling, begged his father to allow him to keep the mutt, he'd had a special place in his heart for his canine companions over the years. He'd been stunned when von Karma had allowed him to retain the poor creature, and he thought back to what it had felt like in the back of the opulent limousine clutching his backpack in one arm and the dog in the other, knowing that all his possessions in the world were right there with him, knowing that his friends would be looking for him the next day…
He caught himself grinding his teeth and mentally forced himself to relax. That was almost twenty years ago and he was a different man, now. For better or for worse, he had even found those same friends again, or at least he'd been found by them. He snorted. Leave it to Phoenix Wright to be so bull-headed that he would hunt down a kid he knew for barely a year across two continents over seventeen years just to…what? The notion still confounded him. What, exactly, was so special about him that anyone would go through all that effort simply to find him? What did he want?
"I've built my entire life around you, you know."
His mouth made a small noise, bleeding the pressure built up in his thoughts. He'd never asked anyone to inconvenience themselves so much over his mere existence, much less anything he'd done for them. His feet carried him toward the stairs and he patted his thigh, calling for Pess to follow him as he ascended. All of this over some classroom "trial" where he'd been so completely fed up with the childishness of it all that he'd had to step in just to put a stop to all the racket. Who would have thought that it would have lead to this? What even was "this"?
He maneuvered the spartan living quarters expertly in the dark, motivated by his desire to warm up in a hot shower before he got into bed. As he slid out of his sport coat and hung it in his closet, he sighed deeply. It occurred to him that even though he told the defense attorney that the ball was in his court, he got the distinct impression that he would have to take the lead, at least for a little while. The notion disquieted him. His fingers navigated the complicated, satin-covered buttons of his vest and it, too, was hung next to the others in his wardrobe. Well, you started it… His fingers ran along the ruffles of his cravat before undoing the button in back, and he stared at it for just a moment, seeking out any wrinkles that might have been left behind from its unexpected abuse earlier. Satisfied that it was still presentable, he draped it over one of the hooks on the closet door. Finally, he made quick work of his shirts and tossed them into the decorative wicker hamper that sat neatly tucked in the corner. Now, how do you intend to finish this?
He stood for a moment and folded his arms. What exactly did he want out of this?
The prosecutor frowned and bent to remove his shoes. It would be irresponsible of him to back out now, wouldn't it? He lamented that he hadn't put more thought into planning what he would do if Phoenix turned out to be amenable to his actions. Although he had genuinely planned on expressing his interests to the other attorney, he had expected things to have played out on a much longer timeline, but here he was now. His pants slid along his legs easily and pooled at his feet before he stepped away from them, plucking them off the floor and neatly arranging them so that they, too, hung tidily from their bottom hems in the closet. His thumbs hooked into his boxer briefs and removed them in a deft motion before he tossed the pair on top of his shirt in the laundry and made for the master bathroom.
It wasn't so far-fetched for him to entertain a relationship with a male. He'd had male and female partners alike throughout his adolescence, though the encounters had been fleeting and stunted by his grueling studies. This, however, felt different somehow, and as he turned the shower on to a punishing temperature, he turned the consideration over in his head, pondering the best course of action.
As he stepped under the stream of water, he gasped, immediately gritting his teeth against the stinging heat of the shower beating against his chest. It felt good in a way, biting at his skin and causing his breath to catch as he forced himself to remain still until he adjusted. The heat seeped into his joints and chased the cold of the evening away. At long last, he turned away from the showerhead and leaned forward to brace himself against the wall, enjoying the way the water pressure felt at his back. Stop procrastinating and make up your mind, Miles. What do you want this to become?
He could feel his hair slide back, whisked away in the stream from the shower head as he leaned his head back into the water and allowed his eyes to shut. He wanted Phoenix. He wanted to have his friendship and he wanted to have more than his friendship, and he wanted to have his rivalry, and he wanted those infuriating blue eyes to look at him the same way they looked at him after they had teamed up to get Dee Vasquez put away, and he wanted his stupid optimism and his laughter and his unwavering devotion, no matter how much he felt he didn't deserve it. More than anything, really, he wanted to be somebody that was wanted, and he wanted Phoenix to be the one who wanted him. From what he could tell so far, there was at least potential for that much.
He straightened and braced himself against the side wall, twisting nimbly and savoring the pop-pop-pop that traveled up his spine. After the extensive tension of the evening he was feeling even more tightly wound than usual and wondered how his friend had fared after he'd dropped him off. Had he lied awake and examined the events of the evening, or had he gone straight to bed? Was he upset? Ashamed? …Excited? There were too many variables for him to consider and he grabbed at the bar of soap on the shelf, frustrated. The defense attorney had spent over half his life trailing him, could probably write a biography on him if he had the time, and yet here he was standing in the shower in the middle of the night unable to produce even a tentative profile of the person he'd kissed no sooner than half an hour prior.
He idly rubbed the soap against his skin and wondered where they would go from here. In an ideal world, he supposed they should date for a while until they ultimately ended up in bed together, should take it slow and learn more about each other and develop something meaningful, but… He set the bar of soap down and went to work with his hands, smoothing his palms over his flesh, aided by the silkiness of the white lather. Did they really have to go through all of that? His hands slid dangerously low for where his thoughts were turning and he brought them back up around the back of his neck for a moment. For everything their relationship was, he was willing to admit that it most certainly was not traditional.
His fingertips worked the muscles at the base of his skull as he thought about the way it felt to move his mouth against the other man's that evening. It had been quite some time since he'd been with anyone at all, much less someone with whom he shared as much history as he did with the brunette. Even though he couldn't recite the attorney's favorite color or describe his apartment or state whether he was a dog or a cat person, he felt as though he knew his rival well enough to at least have a solid foundation. After all, he did know that the man was compassionate and honest to a fault. He knew that Phoenix would fall on a sword for his loved ones, knew that he was smarter than he sounded, knew that he had an unwavering belief in his convictions and in those of his friends'. Wasn't that a good place to start?
His hands trailed a bit further and his thumbs worked at his chest under his collar bones, easing out the stress of the day. Their contact that evening had been simple, experimental, still hesitant and dangerous… He could still feel the abrasiveness of the other man's stubble where it had rubbed against his face, could still taste the intoxicating cocktail of their tongues sliding against each other, could still smell the way his cologne and deodorant mixed with the salt of the air around them. Impulsiveness be damned, he couldn't find it within himself to regret what he'd done that evening. He closed his eyes and could feel his mouth moving, aching to experience it all again. How long had he wondered how it would feel?
There had been a moment where he had felt an almost irrepressible desire to follow the defense attorney into his apartment when he'd dropped him off. Even now as he felt his hands trail lower still, he thought back to how desperately he had wanted to push the man inside and pin him against the wall, to hold him there and really kiss him… He felt himself beginning to grow hard and pulled his hands away from his body. It wouldn't do to rush things, especially if his rival was unused to being with a man, but he knew already that it would be an enormous test of his self-control to be patient. He had grown used to getting what he wanted no matter the cost, and now that he'd already gotten a foot in the door... As much as he prided himself on maintaining a certain air about himself, it had always been easy to find someone to satisfy his urges with, someone who didn't matter and wouldn't call back the next day and whose heart he didn't mind throwing out when he was done.
I'm not like that anymore. He repeated the mantra to himself, chasing the shameful thoughts of all those he'd lain with and forgotten, utilitarian tools serving only to rid him of the distraction from his studies. I'm not like that anymore. It can be different now, with him. He deserves it.
Despite his best efforts, he could tell that his state of arousal wouldn't leave him be so easily, and he chased the image of Phoenix in his mind as it surfaced yet again, wondering how fast was too fast. On the one hand, developing a physical relationship with the man so quickly could unravel everything before it had even taken hold, assuming that he was even interested in engaging the prosecutor in that area so soon, but on the other… He stared down at himself and sighed. On the other hand, he would do almost anything to have the other man pinned against the wall in front of him, soaking wet, crying out into the billowing clouds of steam while the prosecutor had his way with him.
Oh, Miles, you've got it bad, don't you…?
He gripped his arousal roughly and stroked himself a few times, wondering if he had the energy to bother taking care of his newest problem. The soap removed a bit of the usual friction he was used to and he sighed quietly at the delicious silkiness, indulging himself for a moment longer before forcing both hands against the wall once more. To have the defense attorney stood before him taut and looming, eyes half lidded, lips swollen… He'd be equally as intrigued to discover what it would feel like to be trapped by the other man, to have his thighs wrapped indelicately around the trim waist, to bury his nose in the crown of ebony spikes as he moved against the bare, broad chest.
A snarl caught in the back of his throat as he surrendered to the vision, bracing himself against the wall with his forearm and stroking himself anew with his other hand. How many times had he visited these fantasies? How long had he tried in vain to ignore them as they kept him up at night, refusing to entertain the smallest notion of anything ever developing between the two of them? How long since he had given up on fighting and instead stoked the furious blaze that his mind had created, filthy desires braided in with heartache and loneliness and visions of tenderness in the night? His pace was quick and his knees buckled under the waves of pleasure that coursed through him, frantic to purge his mind from the pervasive thoughts of his childhood friend and the man he'd turned into.
He could remember the shock that had rippled through him the first time they faced each other across the courtroom, how it had felt to look into a face so alien to him after all those years and yet as familiar as if he'd seen the man the day prior. Phoenix Wright had grown into himself and yet stayed just a bit rough around the edges, with skin that was mildly scarred from teen acne and shaving nicks, a body that was obviously fit but clothed in a cheap, poorly-tailored suit, with eyes that blazed with passion and intelligence but were tainted by inexperience and fear at the same time. It had been easy, then, to ignore the other man's boyish charm in favor of pursuing his precious guilty verdict. It wasn't until his rival had muddied the waters with his infuriating insistence upon reminding the prosecutor of his humanity that he'd ever so slowly begun his descent into madness over the smile that cut like sunbeams through an August storm cloud.
His voice cried out softly against the echoing rush of the water as he caught his release, hand trembling as it continued its onslaught through the pulsing waves of ecstasy. His mind was filled with the memory of clutching the other man against him, of the way he smelled and tasted, of how deep and hoarse his voice had been, carried like a siren song on the night breeze. Patience be damned, he'd fought for a year to become something worthy of the defense attorney's infectious integrity. Now that he knew that he had a chance, now that he'd seen that Phoenix was at least willing to try, it was only a matter of time before he'd find a way to make it all worth it.
Shaking his seed from his hand, he did another brief pass over with the soap, taking care to run it through his hair this time. Physically satisfied, his thoughts returned with a vengeance to his plan of action. Left with very little information, he decided to treat it instead as though he were grooming a witness. After a final rinse, he cut the water and reached blindly for the towel hung outside the door, feeling unusually inspired now that he was approaching things with a clearer head. If he could build rapport with the likes of Wendy Oldbag, surely he could stoke the weak flames that had sprouted between him and his rival. If nothing else, he knew for certain that the other attorney was a hopeless romantic with a flair for the theatric.
He paused.
A hopeless romantic with a flair for the theatric, hm? His brow furrowed as he resumed drying himself. One of the advantages he knew that he had over his childhood friend was his ability to strategize. If Wright was anything like he was in the courtroom, the man's bleeding heart and naivete would make for easy targets as long as he played his cards right. It would take some assessment, he knew, to figure out just what strings to pluck, but he'd laid the foundation already… The towel flipped easily over the shower door and he strode out of the bathroom, encouraged by the potential of it all. It wasn't that he was going to intentionally manipulate the man into falling for him, or at least that's what he told himself. He was simply going to…encourage him in the right direction.
You know he'll probably throw a few curveballs at you.
He was surprised by the smirk that curved his mouth at the thought. This, he mused, this was why he had returned: The thrill of battle with the only man who had ever bested him. As he slid into bed, he crossed his arms behind his head and chuckled lightly to himself, relishing the feel of adrenaline that quickened his pulse. While he had originally planned on settling for simply getting back into the courtroom and engaging the other attorney in their usual manner, this new adventure offered its own set of welcomed challenges. This time, however, the stakes were significantly higher, and he stared at his ceiling as he considered them.
Technically speaking, the only winner of their usual sparring matches was justice itself, as he was now confident that if the two of them were paired, there was no way they would fail to find the truth, no matter how grizzly or concealed. Now, however, there would be a deeply personal victory or defeat. If he won this little battle of theirs, he supposed he could consider their relationship legitimate in all but the most severe senses. His head lolled to the side and he stared at the undisturbed linen next to him, trying to imagine his rival lying there. What kind of sleeper was he? He stared back at the ceiling, amused. Knowing Phoenix Wright, the man probably stole the blankets, took up most of the bed and slept diagonally, stubborn even in slumber.
If he lost, however…
He frowned, annoyed at the disturbance in his assurance. If he failed to do this correctly and win the other man over, he supposed that it would effectively terminate whatever tenuous relationship they already had. As badly as he would love to believe that they could just go back to the way it was before, he knew that realistically, things like that just didn't happen in real life. Even now, despite their weak, but existing agreement to at least give things a try, nothing was guaranteed. For all he knew, he could contact the man in the morning and discover that he was not interested after all, that he'd been drunk, or confused, or had felt obligated…
He shook his head.
If nothing else, the one thing that persisted through all of the years of anguish and separation was that he trusted his friend. It felt easy and natural for him to believe that, at the very least, Phoenix would have been honest with him no matter what was said on that bench that evening. It comforted him to know that, for whatever reasons his rival had found to do so, the attorney trusted him as well, for the most part. He was grateful for that and, as sleep finally began to claw at him, he vowed not to take it for granted.
Reaching over to his nightstand, he plugged in his cell phone and unlocked it, navigating quickly to his messages. Staring blearily at the screen with one eye, pierced by the blinding light in the darkness, he found the thread labeled "Wright" and selected it.
"Be ready for 7pm Friday. Don't look homeless this time."
Satisfied that he'd done his part, Miles Edgeworth rolled over and dozed off, savoring the new emptiness where nightmares had once dwelled.