There was nothing extraordinary about the scenery outside Phoenix Wright's window when Edgeworth woke up. The curtains were pregnant with dust and released tiny particles into the air as he sat up and parted the unassuming cloth, and as he noted the clouds rolling in from the west, laden with rain and lightning, he sighed. Crowds pulsated in the streets beneath the tiny apartment, curses and greetings and telephone conversations molding into a low drone that was muffled by his window. The world had awoken without him, for once, and he cleared a bit of phlegm from his throat as he allowed the curtains to drift back together.
It was a gentle, unaware Saturday morning outside, and yet...
Glancing at the alarm clock on the nightstand, he noted that he had slept in a great deal. It was pushing nine at this point, and while he had no pressing cases that needed his attention, he felt an inkling of guilt swell within his gut at having wasted so much of the morning. The prosecutor pawed at his eyes and propped himself back onto his arms, willing the rest of his body to catch up with his mind. It had been a long time since he had slept so well and for so long and the sensation left him feeling unusually sluggish, but in a good way. Surrendering to the laziness of the morning for just a bit longer, he promised himself, he laid back gently and stretched hard, relishing the soreness of muscles he hadn't used in a while.
Phoenix was still knocked out beside him, spread languidly across the mattress and almost entirely exposed, having kicked most of the covers off at some point throughout the night. He slept peacefully, content, and Miles smiled at him. Last night had gone just about as well as he could have hoped for, and although there were still some lingering, wispy anxieties tugging at the back of his mind, he was happy to accept the situation as it was for the time being. They had made tremendous progress in such a small amount of time. The rest, he was sure, would follow with time.
Rolling to his belly, he felt his joints pop quietly as he flexed his shoulders, trying in earnest not to wake the sleeping man next to him. Sunlight poured in through the crack between the curtains and illuminated the room in gold, and Edgeworth noted that it looked almost entirely different than it had a mere 8 hours prior. Suppose I wasn't exactly thinking clearly at that time, either, was I? The headboard in front of him was done in a sort of bookshelf style and was littered with more photographs and trinkets, catching his eye.
Unlike the photos on the wall in the living room, these were obviously a bit more personal: There was one of Phoenix and Mia flashing toothy grins, a slightly larger one of Maya and Pearl fast asleep on the couch he'd sat on the evening prior, and—he paused.
A double frame sat on its own, off to the right, obscured slightly by a small keychain and a folded piece of paper, worn nearly through at the creases. A glance to his left reassured him that Phoenix was still sound asleep, so he reached for the ensemble, curious as to what made it so significant as to have space all to itself.
On the left side of the frame, where the keychain hung on a small golden tack that had been driven into the corner, there was a photograph of them as children. With no small amount of amusement, he noticed immediately that Larry Butz had been haphazardly torn from the picture, leaving only himself and Phoenix Wright. They must have been around 8 years old, sitting on the retaining wall outside of his father's house enjoying what looked to be popsicles. The keychain that hung there was that of the blue Signal Samurai, though most of the paint had been worn off at this point, leaving only the skeleton of the helmet's various bedazzlings.
The right side of the frame had a photo of Edgeworth as a young adult, one he'd been unaware had even been taken. The candid photo had obviously been expanded and cropped to show only him, and even then, it had been taken from behind him. Still, he was smiling in the picture, insofar as he typically smiled. He wondered what the conversation had been about or who had snapped the shot. Narrowing his eyes, he plucked the folded piece of paper delicately from where it had been stuffed into the frame, careful not to tear it. It felt like newspaper and as he unfurled it, he fought the urge to laugh.
It was an article about one of his very first cases after debuting as a prosecutor.
The ink was fading terribly but the photo was still intact, showing a cocky, young Edgeworth in a gaudy suit posing triumphantly outside of a courthouse. He remembered it like it was yesterday, although it inspired him more to cringe than to reminisce. He never would have guessed that Phoenix Wright, of all people, would keep a custom photo of him next to his pillow, although he might have suspected the article. The more he discovered about the man, the more of a mystery he became.
A scratchy voice grumbled next to him, muted by the pillow covering the source's mouth. "There's something else that might interest you if you reach down into the drawer next to the bed, y'know."
Annoyed with himself for startling at the unexpected comment, Edgeworth put the frame collection back as he'd found it and turned his head to see a bleary blue eye squinting at him, obviously irritated by the sunlight. He cocked an eyebrow at the offer. "Is that so?"
Phoenix grumbled briefly at the question and stuffed his face back into the pillow, clearly unwilling to assist further. Edgeworth reached down and groped around the side of the mattress, confused as to where this drawer was until he discovered that it was built into the frame of the bed. The drawer slid freely and he leaned over to peer into it, finding it full of various art supplies that were strewn over top of a stained canvas-covered book. He fished it out of the drawer and brought it back up onto the pillow, wondering what to expect. "Is it this book?"
The brunette grumbled into his pillow, "You were so impressed by my artwork last night, I figured you'd wanna see more of it." He turned his head away from the prosecutor and curled up around his pillow. "Seeing as you woke up so damned early. It's Saturday, Edgeworth. Geeze."
"How you have made it this far with your work ethic, Wright, I will never know." He kept his tone light and quiet, distracted by his newfound insight into the other man. The initial pages were littered with different doodles and a few comics, mostly mocking the man's various shortcomings in court. As he progressed, however, the drawings became larger and more intricate, varying wildly in subject matter. A caricature of Franziska hanging from her whip with a triumphant duo of Phoenix and Gumshoe cheering behind her brought forth a laugh before he could swallow it. That must have been a rough trial… On the opposing page sat Edgeworth drawn as a…chicken? He squinted at the words written underneath it:
"ThEre'S PRintS on ThE MurDEr WeAPOn"
Gray eyes slid over to glare suspiciously at the body lying peacefully next to him and he considered giving him a firm kick, but passed. He supposed, in a way, that he'd likely earned that one.
His fingers turned the pages delicately, taking care not to smear the graphite on the thick paper. He could tell that the man went through phases as he filled the book, transitioning from animals to still life, and finally an impressive collection of portraits. He admired each of them in their own right, surprised to find even a few of himself (his human self, anyway) littered among some faces he recognized and a lot he didn't. The last drawing in the book was that of a beautiful young girl staring serenely back at him with a gentle smile, hair split into two intricate pleats that took her bangs away from her face. Although he couldn't quite put a finger on why, it seemed as though the other man had put more effort and detail into this particular drawing than any of the others. He stared at it, unable to shake the feeling that he'd at least seen her face before, when Phoenix interrupted him.
"She could have been a supermodel." Phoenix had joined him in viewing the various sketches at some point, though his face was twisted into an uncomfortable smile as he gazed upon the young girl from where his head still laid on the pillow. "I was head over heels for her, convinced that we'd get married and be happy forever. She said jump, I asked how high. I spent every second I could with her, hopelessly in love." He shook his head, obviously lost down memory lane. Edgeworth listened attentively, trying to quash the unusual feeling of envy that bubbled within his chest. He could tell that this wasn't something that the attorney freely discussed with most, if anybody, and so he simply turned his eyes back to the page in front of him and kept silent. "I nearly failed an entire semester because of her. I'm not sure I even cared at the time."
Edgeworth snorted. "Your dedication truly knows no bounds, Wright." A delicate silence fell between them as they both considered what to say. The prosecutor cleared his throat and eyed his friend uncomfortably, wondering if it were really his place to ask, "What happened to her?"
Phoenix's smile turned painful for a moment. "It...turned out that the relationship was basically one-sided. It didn't end well, that's for sure." He scrubbed a hand over his face and then back through his hair, further mussing the bedhead that threw his black spikes into disarray. "She ended up trying to kill me and framing me for murder at the same time because I was unknowingly holding decisive evidence that could have convicted her for poisoning somebody else. A lawyer. I thought the damned thing was a gift…" His voice stuck in his throat and his heart pounded within his chest, and he wondered yet again why he felt it necessary to confess his darkest secrets—ones he had tried for so long to bury, no less—to the man sitting next to him the morning after they slept together for the first time. Lost in his thoughts, the defense attorney closed his eyes and remembered, in painful silence, how it had felt to hear her words from the defendant's seat. "She ended up...confessing that she actually hated my guts, the entire relationship was a sham, and that she wanted me dead. I was...shattered."
His fingers fiddled with the corner of the pillow as he leaned up onto his elbows, deciding to put the icing on the cake. He'd come this far, after all. "As far as I know, she's still in jail, and I haven't been with anybody since. I'm pretty sure my brain unintentionally swore off of women after that."
It was only when he heard the awkward, suppressed laughter that he opened his eyes and glanced over at his childhood friend who was giggling away. "What...what's so funny, Edgeworth?" He might have been offended if it weren't so rare to see the man expressing anything but disgust or sorrow.
The prosecutor's grin was sophisticated even in its barely-controlled hysterics. "Only you could possibly fall in love and end up framed for murder and nearly killed at the same time, Wright. Honestly, is anything ever straightforward with you?"
Phoenix folded his arms and attempted to pout, but in the end, he had to laugh. It was funny, in a macabre sort of way. He watched absentmindedly as Edgeworth closed the book and placed it back in its drawer. "I'm glad you stayed."
"Hm." The prosecutor stretched languidly and rested his head on his arms, turning to admire his new lover. "I'm glad, too, despite your apparent tendency to sleep the day away."
To his surprise, Phoenix chuckled playfully and moved to clamber on top of him as if to hold him hostage even further. When the brunette was settled, he laid his head down between the prosecutor's shoulder blades. "Can I at least make you breakfast before I have to give you back to reality?"
Edgeworth's voice rumbled pleasantly beneath him. "This is reality, Wright."
A sigh, and then: "No, I mean, I guess it is, but…" The attorney sat up and drew distractedly upon the pale skin underneath him, tracing the lines left imprinted upon it from the bedsheet. "Soon you're going to have to leave, and we'll both go back to work, and it isn't exactly like I can give you a good luck smooch before a case…"
The prosecutor could hear the pout in the other man's voice even without turning. He snorted. "We do live in the same city, you know. Perhaps you'd like to return to my place next time? I seem to recall a promise from you that you would be wearing a tie…" A lengthy pause met his ears and he swallowed a frustrated sigh, opting instead to turn over awkwardly, still pinned by the other man's weight. As expected, Phoenix was trying valiantly to mask his anxiety, but his eyes never lied. Edgeworth took the man's hands into his own and waited until the brunette made eye contact with him. "What kind of man do you take me for, Wright?"
"What do you mean?"
"Do you honestly believe I would go through all the effort of getting us to this point just to up and throw it all away a few days later?"
Phoenix blinked at him a few times, obviously still uncomprehending.
"I spent a year transforming myself into someone worthy of coming back here and starting over. With work, with friends, and with…you. Provided that you would have me, of course." Despite the seriousness of the subject matter, Edgeworth couldn't help but smirk as he reached up to run his hands along the attorney's ribs, reminding both of them that they were still very nude. He appreciated the blush that it drew from the man. "So far, I dare say, that's been going surprisingly well, even if I had to suffer through that pizza to get to this stage."
"You loved it." Phoenix squirmed under the prosecutor's touch, wary of how close Edgeworth was getting to unwittingly tickling him. "Just wait until you have s'mores. You're going to lose it. You might as well bring a pair of nitrile gloves…" There was a throaty chuckle beneath him and he allowed himself to be tugged downward, feeling slightly less awkward each time he was brought into the other man's embrace. For a moment, they simply kissed, soaking up each other's company in the fringes of the lazy morning. Phoenix pulled away, then, and caught his lover's gaze with a mischievous grin. "You know…"
"Hm?"
"…we never did get a chance to clean up last night." The brunette masked his widening smile by tucking his nose underneath Edgeworth's chin. "So your fancy clothes are all over my kitchen," he reached up and trailed his fingers along the top of a pale shoulder, "and I get to enjoy these freckles while you figure out what to do about that…"
He'd taken it slightly too far and belted out the laugh he'd been holding in as the prosecutor planted a hand into Phoenix's face, shoving him back onto his side of the mattress. Blue eyes watched with lazy interest as the other man fished around for his underwear and then his pants, sporting a light flush across his cheekbones as he did so. At long last, the attorney rolled out of bed and stretched, pressing his palms against the ceiling and yawning dramatically. A simple addition of flannel pajama pants got him ready to go and he sauntered out of the bedroom, feeling lighter than he had in a year.
The kitchen was in a terrible state of disarray: Dirty plates, napkins, pizza still in its original box, clothing hung on the cabinets, the lights still on… He tutted, feeling completely uninspired to tidy up the place, but figured it was a necessary evil if he wanted to follow through on his breakfast offer. As his hands moved mechanically and made short work of the deceptively large spread, he suppressed a grin and considered teasing the other man with a bowl of cereal instead of an actual hot meal. How much poor food could he push on the prosecutor in one weekend? He glanced over his shoulder at the man who was suspiciously quiet, finding him staring down at the piano Phoenix had played for him the day prior.
"I wouldn't mind hearing some Chopin while I make breakfast, if you don't mind," he tried to keep the laughter out of his voice and failed miserably, "or maybe some Shostakovich?" There was light grumbling behind him and he giggled to himself, wondering if Edgeworth would actually allow him to teach him how to play a few things sometime. He busied himself with making breakfast for the two of them until the other man's deep voice rang out across the living room.
"This instrument looks like it survived a war, Wright."
The attorney juggled the containers of eggs and bacon in one hand while he reached for a frying pan with the other. "Well, it pretty much has, you know. I really ought to get the thing tuned sometime, but with Maya living here, I can't really spare the expense of it." After turning the stove on, he found a small container for the pizza crusts Edgeworth had requested and set them aside, then peeled off several strips of bacon and laid them in the pan. "Besides, it's not like I ever really play for anyone but myself, so it's good enough, I guess." His stomach churned with hunger as the bacon sizzled away and he stared at it longingly, willing it to cook faster.
Behind him, Edgeworth glanced at him sidelong, evaluating his childhood friend. He, himself, had never struggled financially, though his father had certainly not been rich, either. He knew that Phoenix would never make as much as he did, and probably made far less in general since his career was so young yet. Still, the man had taken the spirit medium in without hesitation, and often the little one as well, sacrificing apparently much to accommodate the two girls. His eyes trailed back to the beaten instrument in front of him and he slid his hands into his pockets, wondering if it would be appropriate to offer to help him. On the one hand, he of course risked offending the man by offering him something he already admitted that he couldn't afford, even if it wasn't outright money. On the other hand, they were sort of an item now, he figured, and if it were simply a gift to the man…
The prosecutor twiddled his fingers against his thighs as he looked away from the piano and instead went to admire the four strange art pieces on the wall. Is this the kind of talent he set aside to follow me? He reached up and touched one of the paintings, running his fingertips along the rough surface, tracing the brush strokes that formed the picture. It made him a bit sad to think that someone had cut off an entire career path full of such passion and beauty just for the chance—not even a guarantee—to meet up with him again. The thought brought forth the memory of Phoenix's face as he sat on the bench that night.
"You came back for me, didn't you?"
He winced.
"How do I know you won't just leave again?"
Standing there, surrounded by all of the man's memories and talents and worn-down but well-loved things, he could feel his shoulders sag under the weight of the burden he'd caused. Even after all the years of phone calls and letters, after all of the sleep and money lost to doubling in law, after being torn apart and built back up again in the courtroom simply to find him, then defending him—twice—when he'd insisted that the man shouldn't bother, he'd asked for nothing, really—nothing but for Edgeworth to be himself as Phoenix had once knew him. He frowned, determined. He had a lot to make up for, but he could at least start by fixing something that had kept Phoenix sane while he waited for him.
He nearly jumped as two arms slid around his midsection and hugged him backward against a warm, bare chest.
"Penny for your thoughts? You got sort of gloomy all of a sudden."
Edgeworth chuckled briefly and reached up to rest his hands on the forearms around his belly. "Phoenix, I want you to make me a promise."
A curious silence permeated the air and the prosecutor felt the other man's chin come to rest on his shoulder. "What is it?"
"Don't ever throw your talents away, alright?" As Phoenix tilted his head to stare questioningly at the strange request, Edgeworth continued. "You're a good lawyer, but you're a great artist. These things," he gestured vaguely ahead of them, "they're rare, what you can do. I may be able to incarcerate killers, but you have the capacity to bring people joy, and I robbed you of that for years." He turned to face the other man who was smiling awkwardly, obviously unused to compliments. "I'm sorry you had to chase me for so long, especially now that I know what you had to give up to do it."
To his surprise, Phoenix chuckled, brushing the comment off. "I'd be just as poor playing piano for people as I am defending them against your scary ass, so don't worry about it." He briefly padded over to the kitchen where he retrieved both of their plates, eager to begin breakfast. "Besides," he set them onto the table and beckoned the prosecutor over, "now I get to have all three things, so that's a win in my book, if you ask me. Took me twenty years, but hey, who's counting?"
Just as they were about to dig in, Edgeworth's cell phone went off in his pocket. He paused in reaching for it until Phoenix waved him on, happily diving into his own breakfast. He unlocked the screen and opened the message from Gumshoe, annoyed at having such an enjoyable morning interrupted. As his eyes scanned over the text, his annoyance tripled, and he couldn't quite stop the sigh of irritation that escaped him.
Phoenix eyed him curiously, pausing in his attack on a slice of bacon. "What's up?"
"New case, homicide. Poisoning, or so they believe. The suspect is in custody and I've been assigned the case." To his surprise, there was a small noise of disgust next to him. He locked the phone and slid it back into his pocket before he, at long last, began delicately taking apart one of his eggs. As he took a bite, he raised his brows at the attorney, encouraging him to expand on the sound.
"I just really hate poisonings." Edgeworth watched in muted horror as the attorney folded his egg, stabbed through the entire thing, and crammed it into his mouth, scowling as he continued around chewing. "They're cowardly and cruel and hard to prove," he swallowed, waving his fork animatedly, oblivious to his audience, "and they also remind me of that case—"
There was a hard silence. Phoenix had stopped cold and stared blankly ahead and Edgeworth nibbled gracefully upon his own bacon, watching the man. After a few seconds ticked by, Phoenix shook his head and went after his other egg. He offered no further explanation, and the prosecutor didn't seek one, although he was becoming increasingly curious as to what else, exactly, had happened during that trial. He wondered if he'd be able to find the case file. If only he had something more to go off of… "What was her name?"
The attorney raised an eyebrow at him.
"You just…" Edgeworth faltered, not wanting to give away his motives quite yet, "you seemed so taken with her at the time, I found it odd that you never mentioned her name."
"Hm," Phoenix finally stuffed the other egg into his mouth and chewed pensively, but ultimately waved his hand dismissively. "Nah, I'd rather not risk it." He placed his plate on the table and stood, apparently uncomfortable. It reminded Edgeworth distinctly of when Phoenix had tried just as hard to get the DL-6 information out of him and he groaned internally, knowing he was likely up for a fight, but willing to chase it if it meant helping the other man finally put things to bed, as he had once done for him.
Phoenix began making his way toward the hallway but paused in the threshold to toss an overly serious glance over his shoulder at the prosecutor. "Saying her name might summon her, being that she's a murderous, manipulative demon and all. I wouldn't chase after this one if I were you, Miles." With that, he nodded, and disappeared toward the restroom.
Edgeworth sighed and stared down at what was left of his breakfast. He knew he'd be in trouble for this if Phoenix ever found out, but… Sliding his phone back out of his pocket, he navigated to Gumshoe's thread of messages. Doing some quick math, he quickly fired off a message to the faithful detective, confident that it would be worth it in the long run.
"There was a case somewhere between 9/13 and 5/14 that involved Wright. I need you to find it for me."
He set the phone down next to him and finished his breakfast as he heard the shower kick on down the hallway. To his surprise, he received a response relatively quickly:
"Got it, sir. 4/11/14-electrocution case. Not guilty."
The prosecutor stacked his plate neatly atop the other man's and carried both to the kitchen, setting them down in the sink before leaning against the counter. He was perplexed by the strange guilty feeling that was swelling within his chest and he fought to curb it, wondering what the issue was. He was simply learning more about the other man's past, nothing more. It's not like it would even come up in conversation. He scoffed and typed his own response:
"Pull the file for me and have it ready on my desk. I'll see you in two hours at the crime scene."
With that, he slid the phone back into his pocket and tried to shake the feeling that he was somehow betraying the other man's trust. After all, Phoenix had found out about the DL-6 case on his own after Edgeworth had done his best to deter him, so how was this any different? He shook his head, marveling at how complicated his life had become as of late.
It was just as he was about to reach for his shirt that he heard Phoenix begin to croon while he enjoyed his shower, the smooth voice carrying over the sound of the water. He chuckled to himself and turned, intent on interrupting the man. As he walked down the hallway, he felt himself suppress a full-out laugh and pulled his phone out once more. Just before he turned the door handle, he fired off one last message to the waiting detective:
"Three hours."