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Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth, read the first three words that appear on Phoenix's left forearm in blood-red ink.

          The mark is incomplete, but it's already too much.  He squeezes his eyes shut as he feels the rest of the words come in, one stroke at a time, but he doesn't dare look yet, afraid of what he'll find.  His heart is pounding, his fingers are trembling, and he thinks he's forgotten how to breathe -

          Because Phoenix is freshly twenty-one, sitting alone here in his dorm, and he's just learned that Miles Edgeworth is his soulmate.

          Miles Edgeworth: the boy who had defended him when they were nine years old.  Miles Edgeworth: the man who had never returned any of the letters Phoenix had sent him over the past decade.  Miles Edgeworth: the so-called demon prosecutor who Phoenix had already resolved to change the course of his life for in order to save.

          This, claims philosophers, is the person who will complete him.

          But he can't dwell further on it, not yet.  In the time it takes for Phoenix to comprehend the fact that he knows who his soulmate is, the pressure against his arm has faded and gone away, and he knows that the mark has come in fully now.  There's no avoiding the rest, because it's there, whether he wants it to be or not.  So he takes a deep breath, opens his eyes, and reads the whole thing:

          Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses death.

          What else did the philosophers say?  That your soulmate is the person who will complete you, so long as - oh, right - so long as you can survive what they'll do to your heart.

          Phoenix gets up, kneels down in front of his trash can, and vomits.

          It's funny, because in the weeks leading up to this moment, the silly, overly-idealistic part of him had dreamed about this.  As devastating as soulmarks can be, as much as modern discourse depicts them as something that has overall done far more harm than good to society, Phoenix is nonetheless unable to deny the deep romanticism of what the marks are supposed to represent.  Who cares, he'd thought, about how bad the actual words are?  They'll lead you to your soulmate, and as long as you're together, you can get through anything.

          And Phoenix - Phoenix should have hit the jackpot, really.  Most people go years without ever knowing who their soulmate is, not until realization hits at the worst time possible - and meanwhile, here he is, presumably lucky enough to have his soulmate's name written plainly on his skin, even if it's Miles for some reason.  But no, no - he's not lucky.  He now gets where everyone is coming from.  The words have been on his arm for all of one minute, but he cares what they are, cares so deeply that he fears that he'll forget how to blink, to breathe, to exist if he cares any more.

          He's not going to be able to live like this, he realizes.

          Panic swells within him at the thought.  He has no idea what he's supposed to do with the burden of this new and terrible knowledge, and he looks around his room wildly, as though something in here will have an answer for him.  Miraculously, there is: his gaze lands on his law textbook, which he'd been staring at the very moment his mark started to appear.  Suppressio veri, the text had read, the header to some section about fraud or whatever.  Latin.  Literally: suppression of the truth.

          And that's what he has to do, he thinks now.  He has to suppress the truth.  His soulmark doesn't exist.  Miles Edgeworth will be saved, no matter what it says.  Miles Edgeworth will live.  The alternative is too horrible to imagine.

          So he pushes himself back onto his feet, grabs the concealer he'd bought in preparation for today, and smears it over his words.  Its original purpose was to hide his mark from people who weren't himself, but hey, plans change.

          When he's done, he looks at the dark smudge on his skin and tries to pretend he doesn't know what lies underneath.

          "I won't let this happen," he says to it.  Suppressio veri.

*

"Do you understand, Feenie?"

          Phoenix looks away from the trembling arm that's just been offered to him, the gauze that had been covering it a few seconds ago now lying carelessly on the floor of Dollie's dorm room.  The implications of what he's seeing make his stomach churn, and it takes everything he has to fight down the bile he can feel is rising within him.

          "No," he says stubbornly.

          He had been so happy the day they'd met.  One look at her, standing there like an angel in the courthouse reading room, and he'd been instantly smitten.  They'd exchanged a few words - she'd recited him a poem - and then she'd taken off the necklace she'd been wearing in order to give it to him.  "I want you to carry this," she'd said, and he had put on the necklace and kept it close to his heart ever since.

          It's a token of their love, he thinks.  A token of how a soulmark isn't prescriptive: just because there's a name attached to it doesn't mean that he can't find happiness elsewhere.  And more importantly, just because it claims something might happen doesn't mean it actually will.  That's the key, really - the knowledge that the soulmark doesn't decide his future.  Miles' future.

          But fate, or whatever it is that decides these things, apparently doesn't want him to have even that.

          "Look at it," Dollie insists, and she takes him by the chin and forces his gaze back down to her arm, where he's confronted by the truth all over again.

          I can't ever give it back, reads the writing on her pale, pale skin.

          He'd said those words to her yesterday during dinner, after she'd asked him to hand over the necklace yet again.  It's become a game between the two of them - every time she sees him, she'll ask for it, and he'll fire back with some kind of retort.  Sometimes he's flippant.  Sometimes he's serious.  Either way, it's clear that neither party actually expects him to return it, because that'd be ridiculous.  Right?

          But everyone knows what soulmarks are.  They symbolize the way your soulmate will hurt you most, if you let them.  That's why his own mark is the terrible thing that it is.  And if Dollie's is this, then...

          Helplessly, he shakes his head.  He can't do it.  He can't voice the obvious conclusion he has to draw, even with the evidence right here in front of him.

          Dollie sighs, letting her arm drop.  "You're my soulmate," she says, that soft, high voice of hers a haunting mix of lovely and wretchedness.  "Can't you see how I always ask for it back, and how you always refuse?  I realized it last night, when you said these words exactly.  It's you, Feenie.  It's you, and you're hurting me."

          His throat goes dry, and he can barely keep his knees from buckling in response.  It's not because of the necklace.  No - the real problem is that he's Dollie's soulmate.  It shouldn't matter, he thinks.  God knows he's spent a non-trivial amount of time telling himself that for all practical purposes, his mark doesn't actually exist, and therefore whatever it says isn't ever going to happen.

          But this - this is a cruel joke.  It's not supposed to be this way.  The way it's supposed to be is that he and Dollie have completely irrelevant marks, but they still get married and spend the rest of their lives together, and also he saves Miles, who goes on to lead a long, happy life.  If he's really Dollie's soulmate, though, then his plan falls apart.  That would mean soulmarks do matter, and that's not something he can live with.

          "I - I can't deal with this right now," he manages at last, and he steps away from her, needing distance.  "We'll talk tomorrow, okay?"

          Dollie reaches out to grab the sleeve of his sweater, but he wrenches it away before she can tighten her hold on it.  "Feenie, please," she whispers, and her voice is filled with anguish.  Has she realized the same thing he has?  "Please, just give me the necklace back - I'm begging you, Feenie - "

          He walks away and pretends not to hear her sob.

*

Doug Swallow is killed the next day, and Phoenix is arrested.  Two days after that, Mia Fey acquits him of all charges.  Phoenix finds himself sitting in the cafeteria with her an hour after the trial ends, him with nothing because he has no appetite, and her with a cup of coffee she hasn't touched at all.

          "I was Dollie's soulmate," he finds himself offering when the conversation has lulled, and Miss Fey blinks, her grip tightening around her cup.  "I found out the day before the murder, and I... didn't take it well.  You know, because she'd confronted me with her words.  I just walked away after, and I felt guilty later.  So... that was why I felt like I had to defend her during the trial, to try and make up for that.  I know I made things harder for you because of that, and I'm sorry."  He doesn't bring up the fact that eating vital evidence also made things harder for her.

          Miss Fey stares at him for a long moment.  It's disconcerting.  Finally, she says, "That's impossible."

          "Impossible that I'm sorry?" Phoenix asks, shocked.  "But - "

          "No, not that," she interrupts.  "I'm talking about Ms. Hawthorne being your soulmate.  She isn't twenty-one.  It's impossible for her to have a mark yet."

          "But," Phoenix repeats.  This time, though, the rest of his sentence dissolves on its own.

          Because what can he say?  On the one hand, he doesn't want to believe that his Dollie would have lied to him about that.  The trial was bad enough, though he's still convinced that whoever was on the stand today wasn't even her.  That's not the woman he fell in love with.

          On the other hand, if he's not her soulmate, then - then the thing he fears is still avoidable.  Soulmarks continue to not matter.  Miles will still be saved.  And that's the most important thing, isn't it?

          "Mr. Wright?"

          Phoenix sniffles, sneezes into his face mask, and shakes his head.  He trusts Miss Fey - with his life, even - but this is too much to offload onto her.  They're not friends.  They're technically not anything at all since the trial is over, so she isn't even his lawyer anymore.

          At this, Miss Fey sighs, leaning forward to pat him on the arm.  She probably doesn't realize it, covered as it is by his sleeve and his concealer, but her hand is right over his soulmark.  "Look, I don't know what she showed you, and I don't know what your own feelings are, but let me tell you what I think.  Regardless of whether she was your soulmate or not, always remember that a person's mark doesn't define their relationship with you.  You're more than just a few words on someone else's body.  Do you understand?"

          Phoenix looks down at her hand.  He wonders where her own mark is and what it says, and whether or not it's shaped her life or her beliefs in any way.  Not that he'll ask - he doesn't even know Larry's words, and they're best friends.  Some things can't ever be shared.  "I think so," he ventures after a moment, even though he's not sure he does.

          "Good," she says.

          They part ways a little while later.  Miss Fey throws away her coffee without drinking any of it.

*

Days, weeks, months, years pass.  Phoenix switches majors, gets his JD, and passes the bar exam.  Mia becomes his boss.  Miles Edgeworth stays alive, which Phoenix is aware of only because the coverage of him gets worse.  (When - no, if - it happens, will the news even report on it?  Will he know?)

          More than once, Phoenix reconsiders his method of brute forcing his way back into Miles' life.  Is this long, circuitous journey toward becoming an attorney the right approach?  Can't he just bombard him with letters again, or stalk the courthouse reading room until he sees Miles walk in?

          But Miles has never replied to his letters before, and Phoenix fears that any kind of physical confrontation is going to end up with himself arrested.  The news articles never say it outright, but the implication is clear: Miles, corrupt as he is, has everyone in his pocket, and it's a power that he's not afraid to wield.

          So the courtroom is the only avenue he has.  That's what it comes down to, anyway - as the words he constantly tries to forget say, Miles Edgeworth is a prosecutor now, and that fact is the key to everything else.

          It takes three years, but today, at long last, the universe has given him what he has spent so much time working toward: a chance to confront Miles in court, where the other man will have no choice but to face him.  No running away, no ignoring him.  One way or another, they'll talk.  One way or another, Phoenix will start to carve away the rot that has set in on his soul.  One way or another, Phoenix will begin to right whatever is wrong with him.

          He just wishes it didn't have to be under these circumstances.  It's probably been at least forty-eight hours since he last slept: Mia was murdered two nights prior, her sister is the main suspect, and the man he's been so desperate to meet again is infamous for always getting a guilty verdict.  He hasn't had any time to mourn; he can't afford to spare it.  So much is riding on what happens today, and no mistakes can be made.

          The clock hits ten.

          Phoenix had come into the courtroom twenty minutes early, wired and nervous, while the prosecution bench had remained empty.  Now, though, the door swings open, and Phoenix finally lays eyes on the man he's been chasing for the first time in fifteen years.

          The photos don't do him justice, Phoenix can't help but think.  Elegance infuses every move Miles makes, from the way he strides to the prosecution bench to how his fingers flip open the clasps holding his suitcase shut.  The natural lighting from the courtroom's skylights illuminate his silver hair just so.  And yet - his eyes look dead and blank, gaze sliding from Phoenix to Maya to the judge without any noticeable reaction.  If he recognizes Phoenix, he doesn't show it.

          "The prosecution is ready, Your Honor," he says, voice low and smooth like velvet, and the trial begins.

          Miles is beautiful and terrible.  He wields his words like a scalpel, cutting into every argument Phoenix makes with intent and precision.  The judge is enamored, and if so much weren't on the line, Phoenix fears he'd be just as enamored, too, pulled along by the simple, clean lines of Miles' logic.  At one point, someone in the gallery claps when Miles raises a counter-objection, and it's all Phoenix can do to not die on the spot.  The only thing keeping him going is the pure, unshakeable knowledge that Maya is innocent, and that somewhere between all the wayward theories they're throwing at each other lies the truth of what happened the night Mia was killed - a truth, Phoenix realizes, that he will have to draw out alone.  Miles is no ally, and Phoenix can't see even the shadow of the friend who had defended him once in the demon standing before him now.

          "I will do anything to get my verdict, Mr. Wright.  Anything," Miles hisses at him in the defendant lobby the next morning, and any hopes of Miles showing him mercy - showing him decency - fade like the memory of the boy who'd saved him so long ago.

          He turns away then, clearly intending to leave, and Phoenix is tempted to let him, because what else is there to do?  If he won't believe in Phoenix's innocence, why would he believe in anything else Phoenix has to say?  Still, the flicker of hope within him can't be quelled entirely.  "Edgeworth," he calls to his retreating back, and the other man pauses in response.  "You've changed."

          At this, Miles turns to face him again, giving him an appraising look, and then he steps closer, closer, closer.  When he's only a few inches away, he leans in, and for a fleeting moment, Phoenix wonders if he's somehow managed to actually get through to him -

          "Don't expect any special treatment, Phoenix Wright," he murmurs directly into Phoenix's ear, and then he pulls back and walks away, leaving Phoenix glued to the floor, dumbstruck.

          Through some miracle, Phoenix manages to win the case anyway, mostly because Mia does the courtroom equivalent of riding in on a white horse and saves him from a guilty verdict.  Despite everything Miles had said, the truth was found, and even better - he hadn't actually been alone in finding it, because Mia had been with him.  He's safe.  Maya's safe.  He can rest.

          That night, though, he lays awake in his bed, staring up at the ceiling as he replays his interactions with Miles over and over again in his head.  Today, Miles had proven that he had recognized him, and yet he'd still done everything in his power to get Phoenix declared guilty for the murder of the woman who had saved his life three years ago.  That he'd failed doesn't discount the fact that he'd tried in the first place, and he doesn't seem to feel even a hint of remorse about it all.

          Phoenix's breath quickens; his eyes water.  It's Dollie all over again.  How, he wonders, does he keep inviting people into his life who want him dead?  Miles was once his best friend.  He'd taught him how to stand up for himself, taught him what it meant to defend others.  What had happened to that boy to turn him into the man he is now?

          And the thing is, Miles trying to send him to death row isn't the most painful part of today's events.  The most painful part is that he did this, and yet - this isn't even the worst way in which he'll hurt Phoenix.  Something even more horrifying lurks somewhere in their future.

          He squeezes his eyes shut, and the tears spill down his face.

          "You'll be okay," he whispers into the darkness.

          He doesn't know if he's talking about himself or Miles.

*

The nightmares start soon after.

          There are variations, but the broad strokes are always the same: Miles will handcuff Phoenix's hands behind his back, and then Dollie will step forward and press a Coldkiller X pill into his mouth, taping his lips shut afterward so he can't spit it out.  And as Phoenix thrashes, trying to resist the inevitable, they just stare at him, cold and indifferent, until everything goes dark.

          His sleep goes to hell.  It's not every night, but more often than not, he jolts awake a shaking, sweating mess at some ungodly hour in the morning.  Sometimes he can fall asleep again, once he's caught his breath and reassured himself that it's okay, he's still alive.  Sometimes he can't.

          Maya calls him out on it: "You look like a zombie, Nick," she says three weeks in, and he just laughs and tries to make a joke about how tiring it is to clean the toilet.  Undeterred, she continues, "Do you have nightmares, too?"

          Phoenix freezes.  "You have nightmares?" he asks.

          As soon as the words come out of his mouth, he curses himself.  It would be more shocking if she didn't have nightmares.  Her sister died in front of her, and she's as much a victim of Miles' philosophy and methods as he is.  (How many other victims are there, he wonders.)  It's just that somehow, the topic has never come up until now.

          They've bonded, of course.  The first week after the trial, he'd helped her sort out Mia's funeral arrangements, and then they'd spent several dinners in a row huddled over fast-food burgers, swapping stories about Mia as a lawyer and as a sister.  Tears had been involved, though Maya had promised that no one but them would ever know.  At the end of it all, he'd felt - better.  Less lonely.  The grief was, and is, still there, and he suspects it always will be.  But just because Mia is gone, it doesn't mean he's alone.

          And now, it seems, he isn't alone in this, either.

          "Yeah," Maya says, almost absently.  She looks down at her hands, which are holding a bunch of what looks like trading cards of a franchise he doesn't recognize, and starts to lay them out on the coffee table.  "You know what I hated about that trial?  Well, okay, I hated everything, but you know what I hated most?  The fact that he had jank witnesses and no motive.  Like, what the hell, you know?"

          Once the cards are laid out, she begins sorting them, though Phoenix can't fathom what her ordering criteria is.  "So in my nightmares, Edgeworth and those jank witnesses are there, trying to get a motive out of me.  Every negative thought I ever had about Sis, they make me say.  I mean, we were sisters.  We fought, but we always made up afterward.  But they keep on making me revisit all those fights, and I hate them for that, even though it's just the nightmare version of them."  She shrugs.  "So those are mine.  I don't even know what yours must be like.  Didn't Edgeworth say he knew you?  And he was still going to try and get you convicted anyway?"

          Phoenix recognizes what she's doing - flipping the topic back to him, because she doesn't want to talk about herself anymore.  While he'll respect that, he can't help but go over to the couch, pulling her into a one-armed hug.  Maya's too young to have gone through what she already has, and Phoenix is already feeling a stab of fear at what her soulmark will say when it comes in four years from now.  What if it's as devastating as his own?  How much more pain is she going to have to bear?

          "Do you think he's forgivable?"

          The question tumbles out before he can reconsider it.  He gets where it came from, of course - he doesn't actually want Maya to know he has nightmares himself, especially when they seem so trivial compared to her own.  And he definitely doesn't want her to know any of the details.  He just hadn't expected his method of deflection to be this, exactly.  It's out now, though, and there's no taking it back.

          Maya pauses in her trading card sorting, looking up at him.  "Forgivable?" she repeats.  "What, for trying to send innocent people to jail?"

          Phoenix glances away, running his fingers through his spikes in an attempt not to fidget, though he belatedly realizes that this probably also counts as fidgeting.  "Yeah, I guess."

          His arm is still around her, so he can feel her shrug again.  "Dunno," she says.  "He'd probably have to stop deserving the title of Demon Prosecutor first, and I kind of doubt he's capable of that."

          "No, he is," Phoenix says, and he surprises himself with the vehemence of his reply.

          He has no evidence.  Based on the single trial they had together, all he has is, in fact, counter-evidence.  Miles is an unrecognizable shell of a person.  Because of him, the grief Maya suffered when she lost her sister has been drawn out and amplified.  Because of him, Phoenix now literally has nightmares about him standing there with Dollie, watching Phoenix die.

          But what are his options?  Just give up after spending half his life trying to find him again, all because of one bad trial?  No.  Despite what's happened, he has faith in his own decisions.  He has faith in Miles.  Even before his soulmark had come in, he'd decided that Miles was worth changing his life for, because Miles was someone worth saving.  The whole point is to encounter a man who has lost his way, and to bring him back.  If Phoenix fails, if the omen written on his arm comes true, then - then there's no purpose in any of this.  Thus: Miles can and will be saved, and that's all there is to it.

          "Wow, Nick," Maya replies, voice soft.  He finally turns back to look at her, though he can't recognize what her expression is.  God, he hopes it's not pity.  "Geez, I didn't realize..."  She trails off, shaking her head.  "I hope you're right."

          "I am," Phoenix says, and he actually believes it.

*

He's right.  He's goddamn right.

          In the eleventh hour, when Phoenix thinks it's all over, Miles throws the trial.  Will Powers goes free.  Dee Vasquez is arrested.  Miles corners him in the defendant lobby and accuses him of giving him unnecessary feelings or whatever, then eventually turns tail and leaves.  Soon after, Mr. Powers says his goodbyes, and then it's just Maya, giving him side-eye and asking him why the hell he can't stop smiling as they take the bus back to his office.

          "I mean, he was literally like, grr, don't ever show your face in front of me again," Maya sighs as they enter the office building.  "How's that a good thing?"

          "Oh, he actually said that?" Phoenix asks.  The truth is, he doesn't actually remember very much of their conversation, distracted as he was by the high of the trial's end.  He vaguely recalls that Miles was grumpy, but frankly, Miles can be as grumpy as he wants.  All that matters is that when it counted, Miles had done the right thing.  The boy who fought for justice is still in there somewhere, and Phoenix will put up with whatever Miles wants to throw at him in order to keep drawing him out.  "Good luck with that.  He's a prosecutor.  I'm a defense attorney.  He's gonna have to see my face, whether he likes it or not."

          "Almost like you did it on purpose," Maya snickers, and Phoenix can't help a loud guffaw in response.

          They have ramen that night - actual tonkotsu ramen from a restaurant, not the instant stuff Phoenix has stashed in one of his desk drawers - because Maya likes ramen too and it's slightly fancier than burgers, and Phoenix is in a good mood.  When he compares how he felt at the end of the last trial to this one, it's like night and day.  Sure, he'd won both by the skin of his teeth, but the last one gave him nightmares, and this one - this one gives him hope.  While he obviously has no way of actually knowing the context in which his soulmark occurs, he's positive it's somehow related to Miles' heel turn.  And if he can just turn Miles back, if he can bring him out of that dark place he's gone into, he can prevent any of it from happening.  He's certain of it.

          One more trial with Miles.  He just needs one more trial.

*

In the years since Phoenix had decided to become a defense attorney in order to face off against Miles, he'd fantasized - to an embarrassing degree, honestly - about what their first interaction outside the courthouse might look like once all of Miles' issues were somehow resolved.  Maybe they'd go to their old elementary school and reminisce about their childhood, and Miles would tell him why he'd so suddenly disappeared in the middle of fourth grade.  Maybe they'd go to a sports bar - alright, fine, probably somewhere fancier than a sports bar - and share everything that had gone on in their lives since they'd been apart.  Maybe Miles would appear at his office, and they'd just... hug for a while, because Phoenix has missed him so much, and all he wants is for Miles to be happy and healthy.

          Instead, their first interaction had consisted of him sitting in the detention center, trying to persuade Miles to allow Phoenix to defend him against a goddamn murder charge.

          At least, he'd thought glumly, he was going to get the one more trial he'd been hoping for.

          Now it's three days later, and Yanni Yogi's just confessed his guilt - but so has Miles himself for an entirely different crime, and Phoenix realizes he's only just beginning to scratch the surface of what Miles went through fifteen years ago.  To have this hanging around your neck for so long, manifesting in your nightmares every damn night - it's almost incomprehensible, and worse, it's completely unjustified.

          "I'll prove you're innocent.  Trust me," Phoenix tells him as they wait in the defendant lobby for the trial to resume, and he ignores the incredulous looks that both Maya and Gumshoe give him in response.  They don't have to believe in Miles' innocence if they don't want to; it only matters that he does.  Today, he understands at last, is the day his entire life has been leading to, the day where he'll finally get to the bottom of what has happened to Miles Edgeworth.

          "W-wright," Miles stammers, disbelieving.  "You can't possibly think you'll be able to uncover anything new from a fifteen-year-old case.  Just let me receive the punishment I deserve."

          "Sure," Phoenix says.  "It's just that the punishment you deserve is none, because you didn't murder anyone, accidentally or not."

          "But the evidence - "

          "Is going to prove my point."

          "And the nightmares - "

          "Again, aren't real."

          Miles recoils, though whether it's from the constant interruptions or the fact that Phoenix refuses to budge, Phoenix can't tell.  "Why?" Miles finally whispers after a long moment of silence, his voice rough.  "What even is the purpose?  You don't have to do this.  We both know accidental murder will not result in the death penalty, and there is thus no need for you to try and save me from the eyes of the law.  I'll live."

          "You think the life you'll allow yourself to lead if you're convicted of your father's murder is going to be called living?" Phoenix asks softly.  He doesn't mention what's literally right up his sleeve - those secret five words scrawled on his arm promising him what awaits Miles if he fails today.  "Don't you get it?  I'm not trying to save you from the eyes of the law.  I'm trying to save you from yourself.  What you believe happened that day is a lie, and I'm going to prove it to you."

          He extends his hand then, meeting Miles' gaze.  "I have faith in you, Edgeworth.  I know you didn't kill your father, and I'm going to make sure you know it, too."

          Miles regards his open palm wordlessly, and as the seconds tick by, Phoenix starts to fear that that's all he'll do - just look, and nothing more.  But then, finally, Miles reaches out, tremulously resting his fingertips against his skin, and Phoenix inhales sharply, realizing all of a sudden that this is the first time they've touched in fifteen long years.

          And this would have been enough - this hesitant contact, this feather-light brushing of skin - because it still would have meant Miles reached back.  But then Miles grips his hand more tightly, like Phoenix is his lifeline and he's a drowning man, and they stay that way until the bailiff calls them back into the courtroom.

*

Even when all is said and done, it remains hard to believe what exactly transpired fifteen years ago, but now he understands the insane, horrific sequence of events that had led Miles to become the man he is today.  And while there's no turning back time, Phoenix is hopeful that having the truth brought to light will help Miles move forward.

          Still, the hidden words on his arm continue to weigh on him, as they always do.  Phoenix is all too aware that just because he's proven in a court of law that Miles is not a murderer, that doesn't mean Miles is processing all of this in a healthy manner.  It doesn't mean he's not going to do something rash, not when his world's been turned upside down.  Frankly, Miles needs a therapist, but somehow Phoenix doesn't see him taking that step.

          So he decides to help Miles the only way he knows how - the only way, as far as he's concerned, that has provided real results - by forcing himself into Miles' life.  Thankfully, this time doesn't involve spending years in university, and one bribe to Gumshoe and a lot of awkward texts later, Phoenix actually has a promise from Miles that they'll see each other tonight so that they can check out the New Year's Eve festivities in Grand Park.

          The plan is to meet there at ten PM.  By nine, though, Phoenix already can't bear to stand around any longer.  He takes an earlier bus over and spends the next half hour pacing in front of their rendezvous point, waiting for Miles to arrive - except Miles doesn't arrive at the appointed time, and for ten wild minutes Phoenix starts fearing the worst, wondering if something terrible has happened and if he needs to call Gumshoe to do a welfare check -

          "Apologies, Wright," he hears, and he gasps and whirls around to see Miles - of course it's Miles, who the hell else would it be - standing behind him.  He looks a little out of breath.  "I underestimated the popularity of this event and didn't take the parking situation into account, so my car is rather out of the way.  You haven't been waiting here long, have you?"

          "No, of course not," Phoenix lies.  Eager to move away from the topic so that he doesn't get caught, he smiles, offering, "I'm glad you came.  Maya just left the other day, and I guess I didn't want to spend New Year's Eve alone."  It's not entirely a lie, but it's not entirely the truth, either.  Miles would have never agreed to this if Phoenix had told him he didn't want him to be alone.

          "Yes, I gathered as much from your texts."  Miles tilts his head in the direction of the park.  "Shall we?"

          Phoenix nods, and they start heading over.  This is the first time they've gone anywhere together in fifteen years, he thinks, and for a moment he imagines that they're back in fourth grade and walking home from school, Miles babbling about his father's latest case as Phoenix hangs on to his every word.  The memory is more poignant than he expects.  They'd been so happy then, and knowing the truth of what would befall Miles just a few short months later makes Phoenix's heart ache.  After everything that's happened, how can anyone in his shoes be expected to keep going?  How can they actually move on?

          He has no idea.  All he knows is that he'll do everything he possibly can to help Miles through this.

          "I'm really glad you're here," he says, breaking the silence.  He's brought this up already, but the sentiment remains true and bears repeating.  "To be honest, I didn't expect you to agree.  I wasn't sure if I was just... bothering you, or something."

          Miles scoffs, though there's the faintest of smiles on his lips.  "I think we crossed that bridge months ago, when you first saw fit to accost me in the courtroom.  But after all you've done, I suppose the least I can do in return is indulge you in this."  His gaze shifts toward him.  "Besides, you did promise me fireworks."

          "I did," Phoenix agrees.  They reach the park entrance, and for a moment they fall silent to take it all in - snowflake-shaped lights hanging everywhere, food vendors as far as the eye can see, and a live band playing on the pavilion.  "But we have two hours to kill before they start.  What do you want to do in the meanwhile?"

          "W-wait a minute," Miles stammers, stopping dead in his tracks.  "Two hours?  We're meant to fill time for two hours?  Wright, I have told you already that I'm no good at small talk - "

          "So we'll do big talk," Phoenix says with a grin, and Miles groans, reaching up to run a hand through his bangs.  He cuts a striking silhouette posed like that, dressed as he is in a dark peacoat, the jabot he normally wears replaced with a scarf for the evening.  "Come on, what'd you expect?  The fireworks are for midnight.  It's a little after ten PM.  According to my math, that's two hours."

          Miles still looks nervous, which Phoenix can't help but find, well, adorable, but he decides to try a different tack.  "We used to spend entire nights together," he continues, more gently.  "Remember?  All those sleepovers we had when we were best friends?"

          "We were different people back then," Miles replies, his voice gone soft.

          "Not that different."

          They stop walking.  Two boys run past them, screaming and waving glow sticks, and Phoenix watches them disappear into the crowd.  After a moment, he adds, "I'd like to be friends again."

          For a while, Miles doesn't reply.  Phoenix glances over and sees that he's also gazing in the direction the boys had run off into.  "I can't imagine why," he says at last.  "I'm quite sure I caused you and Miss Fey a great deal of pain not all that long ago."

          "Yeah," Phoenix says, because there isn't much point in pretending otherwise - though the nightmares he'd been having actually did stop after the Steel Samurai case.  "But that doesn't mean you're unforgivable, Edgeworth.  Sure, you have to work for it, but I think you've already been doing that.  You objected during the Will Powers trial.  You posted bail for Maya.  You came over to spend time with me tonight.  You didn't have to do any of those things, but you did."

          "That was nothing - "

          "No, it was something," Phoenix interjects before he can continue, because he's not going to let Miles downplay his own actions.  This is important.  "It's you becoming a better person.  Becoming someone who, let me repeat, I'd like to be friends with again."

          Miles looks at him, and Phoenix looks back, willing him to know, to understand.  Finally, he manages a small nod, though his expression remains uncertain, and Phoenix wishes he could do something to smooth away that furrowed brow.  "Very well," Miles eventually says.  "You'll have to remind me, though.  What... 'being friends' entails."

          Phoenix can't help but beam at him in response, so grateful that they've actually reached this point.  He'd had no idea what he was getting into when switching his major way back when, but he knows that it was all worth it to have Miles here now, talking about the future.  "It'll be my pleasure," he promises, then claps him on the shoulder and starts steering him toward one of the food stalls.  "Lesson one: churros."

          There's some confused glaring involved, but in due time, Phoenix manages to set them up with said churros.  His own is covered with chocolate and crushed candy canes, which Miles accuses of being an abomination, so Phoenix gets him a simple cinnamon sugar one.  It's for the better, anyway, since apparently the man has never even heard of a churro before.  He has a lot to learn, but it's fine - Phoenix will teach him these things.  That's what friends are for.

          Over the next half hour, they amble around, people-watching and munching away.  It's actually not that awkward.  Miles even deigns to try Phoenix's churro, genuinely seeming to find it distasteful - "What is the purpose of all this extra dressing, when the original is already excellent as-is," he snaps - but Phoenix teases him about liking it anyway.

          They finish their first churro.  Miles grimaces at his empty wrapper and complains about how his sleep is undoubtedly ruined tonight.  They still get more churros.  Sometime after that, Miles complains again about the dangers of excess sugar, but nonetheless decides to buy them hot chocolate.  "Enjoy your insane flavors, Wright," he titters, and Phoenix feels irrationally pleased as Miles pushes a cup of something touted as "unicorn-flavored" into his hands.

          "You didn't even ask me for input," he fake-huffs in response.

          Miles takes a sip from his own cup - classic hot chocolate, of course - and looks at him over the rim.  "Did I have to?  Based on your prior selections, I assumed that this is what you would have chosen."

          Phoenix hums, regarding the pink concoction he's holding, and smiles.  "Nah," he says.  "You picked right."

          It's almost midnight by now.  He quietly marvels to himself at how time has flown by: despite Miles' misgivings, he'd been a perfectly fine conversation partner, and Phoenix wishes that the night wasn't almost over.  They hadn't talked about the trial or von Karma at all, but it's okay.  Tonight isn't for that, he thinks.  Tonight is just for friendship, and for letting Miles know that Phoenix is here for him.

          "You wanna go somewhere less obstructed?" he asks when there's only a minute left until the new year.  Everyone else has been on the move, trying to find the best vantage point for the fireworks.  But somehow, he and Miles had wound up in a more secluded spot surrounded by trees, their branches bare for the winter.

          "No," Miles says.  He idly swirls the remains of his hot chocolate.  "It's quiet here."

          "Okay."

          They stay, and neither of them say anything more.  Soon enough, Phoenix can distantly hear the DJ start counting down, and he looks over at Miles, whose head is already tilted upward, facing the night sky.  He fights the strange urge to tuck Miles' bangs behind his ears.

          "Three - two - one - "

          The fireworks go off.  The new year is rung in.  But as Phoenix watches the lights play off of Miles' face, all he's aware of right now is how this man is the most beautiful person he's ever seen.

*

Chapter Text

They keep meeting over the next few weeks.  This is what friends do, he assures Miles.  This is how he makes sure Miles stays safe, he assures himself.  Both are true, but at some point, he can no longer deny that there's something else going on.

          He's noticing things.  They're small things, things that he shouldn't actually be noticing, and yet they capture Phoenix's attention anyway: things like how Miles never fidgets unless he's crossing his arms, at which point one finger will start tapping incessantly against his sleeve.  How he'll whisper dog under his breath when they see someone walking one.  How he'll clear his throat when he's trying to suppress a smile.  Why does any of this matter?  It doesn't, but - it does, because it's Miles.

          "We'll have the panna cotta," Miles tells the waiter during one of their dinners together, and the way he says it becomes yet another thing Phoenix notices.  Miles' enunciation is so overly precise - of course he doesn't pronounce it like a regular American; he has to be all Italian about it - and Phoenix feels nothing but helpless affection.

          This is a normal reaction to have towards a friend, he tells himself.

          He's spared from further thought when the waiter returns, placing the little dessert dish down between them, and blinks in surprise when Miles gestures at him to have some first.  "I got this for you," Miles explains, and Phoenix tries not to flush.

          "Oh.  Thanks."  He picks up one of the little spoons and tries a scoop.  Tahitian vanilla with fresh berry compote, the menu had said, and it tastes as good as it sounds.  "Yeah, you chose right.  You're not gonna have any?"

          Miles shrugs.  "Panna cotta is made with gelatin," he says.  Before Phoenix can ask where this is going, Miles adds, "I have a very powerful memory of my father once making me a molded egg salad, which unfortunately is exactly what you think it is.  I'd begged him to, because he'd mentioned offhand how he'd had to eat it once as a child at some event, and I wanted to experience the same things he did.  The more I was like him as a child, the more likely it was that I could then grow up to continue to be like him as an adult.  It made perfect sense in my head."

          Phoenix puts his spoon down, not wanting to eat while Miles is sharing this with him.  "We see, of course, where this has brought me," Miles continues.  "I ate gelatin salad, and I don't even have a defense attorney's badge to show for it, because I spent fifteen years believing a lie."

          He's smiling as he speaks, as though this all warrants nothing more than a sensible chuckle, but Phoenix knows him better than that.  They've tread this ground before.  "Hey," he says, reaching out to place a hand against Miles' arm.  "Listen to me.  Lie or not, there are still things that are true about you regardless.  You're a prosecutor.  A good one, one who has a code of ethics and has followed it, and that's a part of your identity nothing can take away.  And look, I'm not dad material or anything, but I feel like I can confidently say that any good parent wants nothing more than for their kid to be happy, not that the kid becomes a carbon copy of themselves.  And Mr. Edgeworth was a good parent."

          Miles looks down at Phoenix's hand, then back up at him.  "I appreciate that, Wright," he replies softly.  "The happiness part, though... I'm afraid that's still something of a work in progress."

          Phoenix tilts his head.  "But it's not something you're working on alone.  You know that, right?"

          Once more, Miles' gaze drifts toward the hand on his arm, and his lips curve upward ever so slightly.  "I do," he says.

*

When it finally happens, they're not even on a planned outing.  Phoenix is making his monthly pilgrimage to 99 Ranch to buy an embarrassing amount of instant ramen, and it turns out Miles is there too, studying the different brands of wonton wrappers available.  When they see each other, Miles is quick to judge the contents of his basket, while Phoenix pretends he doesn't know what wontons are to see how exasperated he'll get.

          "But you're just describing a dumpling," Phoenix is saying when a guy pushing a commercial floor scrubber starts coming down their aisle.  They move to the side to let him pass, raising their voices to be heard over the whirring of the machine - Miles is now lecturing him about the differences between the wrappers, something about the shape and the usage of egg.  Then the scrubber guy turns around and again heads toward them, so they move back to their original spot; Phoenix declares that in the end, they both get boiled anyway, and he can barely suppress his grin as he sees Miles' jaw twitch.  And then - "Oh my god, he's coming back a third time," Phoenix chokes out, the combined mundaneness and absurdity of the situation doing something funny to his brain, and Miles has to drag him out of the scrubber's path, clearing his throat furiously.

          At long last, scrubber guy leaves the aisle.  The world is peaceful once more.

          "You know, I think he missed a spot," Phoenix says into the silence.

          This comment, stupid though it is, is apparently what pushes Miles over the edge.  For a second, his face is completely deadpan - but then he grabs Phoenix's shoulder and lets out a long laugh, tilting forward precariously like he can barely keep himself standing, and Phoenix wonders how he's gone on so long without having this sound in his life.

          It's over for him, he realizes.

          For three years, he's denied the words written on his arm - the words written in his own hand, like future-him had witnessed this terrible thing and penned them as a warning to his past self - because he can't accept that it's something that will ever come to pass.  And since he'd been denying the words, it meant he'd also been denying the person his words were attached to.  He hadn't wanted to prove any part of the soulmark right, after all: if he accepts that Miles is his soulmate, then he accepts that Miles will also do the thing his soulmark says.  Better, then, to not ever think of Miles as such.

          But he can't reject the truth any longer.  This man who he saved, this man who once saved him, this man who is brilliant and smug and beautiful and clever - this man is his soulmate, and wrapped up as he is in the sound of Miles' laughter, so joyous and alive, Phoenix can feel safe admitting it.

          Mia had told him as much once upon a time, hadn't she?  "You're more than just a few words on someone else's body," she'd said, and he thinks he understands now.  Miles is so much more than what is on Phoenix's arm.  Miles is everything.  And accepting that doesn't mean accepting the words.

          "Pardon," Miles gasps a moment later, clearing his throat again as he attempts to muster up a serious expression.  "I, ah, apologize for my outburst."

          "Don't," Phoenix says, and he wonders if what he's feeling right now is visible.  He's glowing with this new, secret knowledge - never mind that it's not actually new; never mind that honestly, he never needed any sort of mark to be smitten by Miles anyway, because he would have turned his life around for this man no matter what.  But it's a truth he's finally accepted.  Miles is his soulmate - and god, wouldn't that mean that he's Miles'?  (But if he is, then what are his words?  How will Phoenix hurt him?)

          It's not worth dwelling upon, not yet.  At some point, maybe he'll do something about this truth, but right now, he's happy.  Miles is happy.  And that's enough.

          "Well, after all that, I clearly have no choice but to invite you over for dinner so that you may actually have wonton soup," Miles sighs, cutting into his thoughts.  Phoenix immediately perks up - he's never been to Miles' place before.  "Unfortunately, I do have plans tonight, but perhaps next weekend?"

          Phoenix smiles.  "Yeah," he says.  "I'd like that."

*

The dinner never happens.  Later that week, Phoenix and Ema Skye are in Miles' office, watching the other man as he leans back in his chair, his eyes shut, his face pale.

          "I feel as if something inside me has died," Miles admits, and Phoenix's blood runs cold.

*

"I suppose you'll be wanting a ride back."

          The two of them are standing in the parking lot of Très Bien, where they'd had their post-trial dinner.  The mood had been celebratory - even Miles, who Phoenix practically had to beg to come, was smiling - but Gumshoe and the Skyes have since left, taking the jubilant air with them.  Now Miles is gazing absently into the distance, and Phoenix is reminded of the first time they'd faced off in court - how blank his eyes were, how emotionless.  That this haunted look has come back is no comfort, and Phoenix hates everything that is responsible for putting it there.

          But Miles was hurt before, and Phoenix was there for him.  This new hurdle is just more of the same: Miles is once again hurt, but Phoenix is once again here, as he was before, and as he always will be.  Nothing needs to change.  Miles will remain safe.

          So Phoenix nods, because spending more time with Miles is exactly what he wants.  "If you don't mind."

          "Well, get in, then."

          Phoenix clambers inside, buckles up, and looks around.  He's been in Miles' car several times by now, but of course this isn't his car - that one is still in evidence, and Miles is renting this.  "Weird to see Miles Edgeworth driving a Toyota Corolla," he can't help but tease.

          Miles scowls.  "Hardly my first choice," he sniffs as he leaves the parking lot.  "As it turns out, options are severely limited when you need a last-second rental because your own car was used to frame someone else for murder."

          "See, this is why I don't drive."

          To his relief, Miles does chuckle at that, though he doesn't otherwise reply.  Phoenix is left to just sit there, wondering what Miles is thinking.  Sure, he's being jokey and sarcastic right now, but that doesn't mean anything.  Phoenix still remembers the crumpled letter of resignation.  The tone of Miles' voice as he'd declared he couldn't forgive himself.  The way he'd slumped back in his chair, looking sick and defeated.  Phoenix will find a way to fix this, because he has to, but he fears what an uphill battle it may be.

          "Shockingly, I believe I know exactly what is going on in that head of yours right now, Wright."  Miles' voice cuts through the silence, and Phoenix blinks at him, wondering for a wild moment if Miles is aware of his soulmark.  "You told me on New Year's Eve that I wasn't unforgivable, and that I was someone you still wanted to be friends with.  From your current demeanor and behavior, I gather that this is something you continue to believe, despite the truths revealed about my actions over the course of the trial.  Thus, you wish to convince me of this, particularly after what I said in the presence of you and Miss Skye yesterday."  He spares a glance at Phoenix before looking back at the road.  "So?  How far off the mark am I?"

          It's not... exactly what's in his head.  It can't be, because thankfully Miles indeed doesn't - and won't - know of his soulmark.  But it's actually a lot closer than Phoenix expected, close enough to effectively be the truth.  "You know me better than I thought you did," he says softly.

          "Hm."  That actually earns him a tiny quirk of the lips, and Phoenix is glad to see it.  "Well, spending so much time with you lately has had that effect, apparently.  I daresay it's a little frightening."

          Phoenix shakes his head at that, tentatively reaching forward to place a hand against Miles' arm.  "No, Edgeworth.  It's normal.  This is what friends are: people who understand each other.  I'm glad you feel like you understand me."  He smiles, despite the fact that Miles can't see his face.  "Hey, see?  You're pretty good at all this."

          Miles nods absently, though his expression doesn't change.  "Be that as it may," he continues, and Phoenix can sense the mood of the conversation shifting.  "I expect I've done a poor job of expressing it, but I appreciate all you've done for me these past two months, more than you can know.  I had thought after my trial that I would want to be alone, but you forced your companionship onto me, and I have to admit to myself that I am better for it.  Because of you, I understood that - that - "  His voice cracks, and he has no choice but to pause.  Phoenix wishes they weren't driving so that they could hug.  "...That I am somebody worth having faith in," he finishes at last.  

          His grip on the steering wheel tightens; his knuckles go white.  "But you can't fix all that is wrong with me, not after this.  What comes next is something I must determine for myself."

          The statement lingers in the air.  Phoenix's mind is frozen, unable to come up with a reply.  Knowing what he does, everything Miles says sounds so ominous.  Is this how his words come true?  It can't be.  He won't let it.  Eventually, he manages, "So what are you saying?  That you don't want to spend time together anymore?  Why would you think I'm not going to - as you put it - force my companionship onto you still, when you just said you're better for it?"

          "Because," Miles says, "I am asking you not to."

          They reach Phoenix's apartment building.  Miles stops in front of a fire hydrant, making it clear he doesn't plan on staying, though he does at least finally look in Phoenix's direction.  "I just need time, Wright," he continues.  His voice is quiet.  "Time alone to process the kind of person I was, and am, and will be.  I understand that you forgive me, and I value that deeply.  But I need to forgive myself as well, without relying on your faith in me as a crutch."

          "Why, though?" Phoenix counters.  "Not to go all Friendship 101 on you again, but that's actually exactly what you should be doing - drawing strength from your friends.  It's not a crutch."  For a brief moment, he considers just saying it.  Just telling Miles what his soulmark is, so that Miles can understand the horror Phoenix is so desperately trying to prevent.  What if it works?

          The words form on his lips and die before they make it out.  He can't.  He can't bring himself to do it.  He's scared of what might happen if he doesn't tell Miles, but he's even more scared of what might happen if he does.  So instead, he says, "Edgeworth, if you dwell on this alone, you're going to spiral.  I know you are.  And if you spiral, you're going to do something stupid.  I don't want that to happen, not when it's so easily preventable."

          Miles looks away again, eyes closing for a few moments before fluttering back open.  "Have faith that I will not, then," he says, and Phoenix nearly stops breathing.

          The path forward has suddenly narrowed into a tightrope; his options plummet away into the darkness.  With those words, Miles has unknowingly forced Phoenix into what feels like an impossible choice: to trust Miles, or to trust the soulmark.

          He wants to trust Miles.  He wants to trust him more than anything, to believe that yes, Miles will process everything and still come out on the other side both alive and as a better man, even if Phoenix isn't there for him.  But the words on Phoenix's arm continue to burn into his skin - never mind the fact that he refuses to look at them, never mind that if he presses his fingers to them they're not actually any hotter or cooler than the rest of his arm - and he fears that the only reason he's staved them off thus far is because he's been actively fighting so hard against them, which he can't do if he steps back.  And yet, if he chooses to trust the soulmark over Miles, then wouldn't that destroy everything they've built?  If he again forces himself into Miles' life despite his wishes, despite Miles asking him to have faith, wouldn't it only serve to show that Phoenix doesn't, in fact, believe in him after all?  Then where will they be?

          In the end, maybe there is no choice.

          "Okay.  Okay.  I have faith in you," he whispers, and he pretends that it's not killing him inside to let Miles go.

*

One week later, Miles appears on his doorstep.

          It's late, almost eleven, and Phoenix had answered the knocking at his door without thinking - probably not the smartest thing to have done, but it doesn't matter, not when it's Miles standing there on the other side.  For a moment, Phoenix's mouth moves uselessly as he looks at him - thinking, maybe, of saying something like, I thought Gumshoe said you were on a leave of absence, or oh god, I'm so glad you've come back, are you okay, but the only word that comes out is, "Edgeworth?"

          Apparently Miles is as tongue-tied as Phoenix is, because he can't formulate any sort of reply beyond a slow nod.  He just stares at Phoenix instead, and there's something in his eyes, something Phoenix can't quite identify, but there's a desperate edge to it that he finds impossible to deny.  It's like Miles is drinking in the sight of him, like it's been years instead of days since their last parting.  Eventually, he chokes out, "I shouldn't be here."

          "Wait, hold on," Phoenix says quickly.  "It's only eleven.  It's fine.  Come inside."

          Miles looks briefly over Phoenix's shoulder into his apartment, but it only lasts for half a second until his gaze slides back to Phoenix himself, as though he can't help it.  Again, a long moment passes before he answers.  "I - no.  No, I'm sorry.  This was a mistake.  I'll go," he manages, and he starts to step away.

          Phoenix can't watch Miles turn his back on him, not when he has a sudden thrilling, terrifying feeling that if Miles leaves now, Phoenix's words will be set in stone, and the weight of them will drag him down to somewhere he'll never be able to leave.  So he just reacts, lurching forward and grabbing Miles by the arm before he can move any further, and tries to bring him back - back to his doorstep, back from whatever precipice Miles is standing on alone.  Miles had come here tonight, and that has to mean something.  "No," he says.  "Miles.  Stay."

          Miles blinks at him, faint surprise written on his features - because Phoenix had called him by his first name, maybe?  But he doesn't explain, and Phoenix doesn't ask.  There is only one thing he wants from Miles right now.  "Stay," he repeats.

          They're still touching, Phoenix's grip tight against Miles' arm, and despite the fact that they're not doing anything exerting, the sound of Miles' breathing is heavy around them.  Miles looks down at Phoenix's hand and doesn't lift his gaze back up.  "If I stay," he says very quietly, "I'm going to do something you'll hate me for."

          In response, Phoenix pulls him closer, and Miles lets it happen, lets himself be brought in so close that he can't see Phoenix's hand anymore, the space between them gone.  Phoenix can feel his heart pounding, but he won't surrender.  He'll hate Miles.  He'll walk through hell for him.  He'll endure anything, so long as Miles stays.  "Do it," he whispers.

          Their eyes meet.  Miles steps forward; Phoenix steps back, like it's a dance they've been rehearsing ever since their lives became intertwined again.  They cross the threshold into his apartment; Miles kicks the door shut behind them, and Phoenix knows there won't be any turning away now.

          There is one more moment of silence between them.  And then -

          And then they're kissing, and Phoenix has no idea which one of them moved first - they join in the middle so perfectly, as though they'd known that they'd meet here all along.  Miles' lips are soft and warm against his own, and the taste of him is sweeter than Phoenix could have ever imagined.  He finds himself remembering the day he'd first heard Miles laugh, how he'd thought to himself then that he couldn't understand how he'd lived so long without it, and now - now, standing here with Miles in his arms, the other man's hands running through his hair, the heat of his body pressed up against his own - he knows that it's that same feeling again, that Miles has given him something he's suddenly realized he cannot survive without.

          How could you think I'd hate you for this, he thinks.

          When they finally break apart, they're both panting.  Miles' hands are still tangled in his hair, and Phoenix's are against the small of Miles' back, holding him close.  Neither of them make any move to step away from one another; they just stand there, looking at each other in the dim light.

          "You allowed that to happen," Miles breathes.

          "I wanted that to happen," Phoenix replies.

          Miles swallows thickly, one hand of his slipping down to cup Phoenix's face.  His thumb brushes over Phoenix's cheek.  After a moment, he leans forward, and Phoenix is again there to meet him halfway as they kiss once more.

          "Phoenix," Miles whispers afterward, and this time it's Phoenix's turn to be surprised.  The sound of his first name falling from Miles' lips sounds sacred, stolen, a secret prayer that shouldn't be uttered aloud.  Phoenix shudders, and Miles slides his hand lower, tracing the line of his jaw.  "I - I want..."

          He trails off, but Phoenix nods anyway, reaching up and taking Miles' hand in his own.  "Come on," he says quietly, and he leads them to the bedroom.

          There isn't a lot of talking after that.  In the aftermath, they just lie there for several moments, naked and catching their breath in the otherwise silent room.  Phoenix's heart is thundering in his chest.  A small part of him can't believe what they've just done, but a much larger part can't believe it took them this long to do it.  Miles is his soulmate, after all.  They should have been together this whole time.

          But it's okay.  They're together now, and that's what matters.  Miles is here, and he won't leave, not after they've just shared this.  Phoenix knows it.

          So he turns his head to smile over at him, resisting the urge to look over Miles' body to try once more to find a hint of his soulmark.  Miles must keep his covered as well, and the concealer has held on them both despite their exertions.  Phoenix considers just asking - asking Miles what his soulmark is, and showing him his own in return, so that it's all out in the open - but though he feels content now in a way he hasn't in a long time, he's still not ready to expose his words.  Later, he tells himself, because there will be a later.  "You okay?" he asks softly.

          Miles doesn't look at him, but he nods against Phoenix's skin.  "Thank you for that," he says.

          Phoenix chuckles, grabbing some tissues to clean them off.  "That's not really something that needs a thanks," he replies.  "Me wiping you down, though - that you can say thank you for."

          Miles makes an answering soft sound in the back of his throat and remains still, leaving Phoenix to do as he pleases.  But once Phoenix has thrown everything into the bin, Miles moves closer, and one hand drifts up to Phoenix's face.  His finger traces over an eyebrow.  "Thank you, then," he continues quietly, and finally their eyes do meet.  It's that same expression again, the one Phoenix had seen when Miles had first shown up on his doorstep, and it's staggering in its intensity.

          "You're welcome," Phoenix whispers, and he suspects it's for a lot more than what just happened tonight.

          There's a nod in response, but nothing beyond that besides Miles' gaze upon him, finger still running idly over his eyebrow.  For a long while, neither of them speak, until Miles eventually breaks the silence.  "'What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you'," he murmurs, and the way his eyes lose focus makes it seem as though he's quoting something.  "'You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good.  I want to say that - everybody knows it.'"  Miles inhales then, like there's more to this, but ultimately nothing else comes out.  "Virginia Woolf," he concludes instead.

          Phoenix blinks at him, wondering how much of that was just a quote and how much of it is what Miles actually feels.  "That was nice," he says.  He furrows his brow, then continues, "But - it's not all your happiness.  You're stronger than that, Miles.  You owe yourself some of your happiness, too."

          "Perhaps," Miles says absently, though he clearly doesn't buy it.  He exhales sharply then, drawing his hand back.  "Did you still want me to stay...?"

          "What kind of a question is that?" Phoenix asks, wrapping his arms around Miles before he gets it in his head to pull away completely.  It doesn't matter which one of them is getting held tonight, as long as someone is.  "I'm always going to want you to stay."

          Miles gazes at him once more, then places a kiss against his forehead before burrowing close and shutting his eyes.  And when he starts to tremble, Phoenix asks no questions, rubbing his back until they both drift off into sleep.

*

The bed is cold the next morning.

          Phoenix initially doesn't take any notice of this as his mind slowly rouses, because when isn't his bed cold in the morning?  For one, he kicks off his blankets during the night; for another, he's too cheap to ever turn on the heat.  And of course, he doesn't have a partner to sleep with -

          A partner -

          His eyes fly open, and he bolts upright, looking around wildly as memories of the previous evening return to him.  Last night, there was a partner - there was Miles.  Miles, who had appeared on his doorstep, looking haunted and desperate.  Miles, who had made love to him on this bed.  Miles, who had stayed in Phoenix's arms and fallen asleep there.

          Miles, who is now nowhere to be seen.

          This doesn't mean anything, he tells himself, and he tries not to shake as he stumbles out of bed, pulling on some clothes and making his way into the living room.  "Miles?" he calls, like there's some corner of his tiny, one-bedroom apartment that Miles could possibly be hiding in - but obviously there isn't, and after checking the bathroom and closet just in case, Phoenix has to accept that he's alone in here.

          But it still doesn't mean anything.  Miles is his own person.  He's allowed to leave and go places, and he hardly has to ask Phoenix for permission to do so.  There's a hundred valid reasons for why he could be gone - he went out on a run, he got hungry, he wanted a change of clothes - and only one impossible, unbearable one.  Statistically, the odds are in his favor.

          Despite his attempts to reassure himself, though, his hands tremble as he picks up his phone and finds his conversation with Miles.  Their last messages are from over a week ago, before the Skye trial had happened, because he'd respected Miles' wishes to not contact him.  But Miles had come over last night - they'd slept together - and surely he wouldn't begrudge a text to him now.  After a moment of thought, Phoenix taps out, you okay? and hits the little arrow button.  All he needs is an answer - it can be just one word, for all he cares.  One letter.  Something.  Anything.

          The response is instant.

          Message failed to send.

          He stares down at it disbelievingly, then shakes his head.  No.  It's just a hiccup in the cellular network, or whatever.  He'll call instead, leave a voicemail - everything's fine -

          "We're sorry," says the voice on the other end, "but you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service - "

          The phone slips from his hand.  Phoenix drops to his knees and screams.

Chapter Text

In the coming days, Gumshoe confirms the truth that Phoenix had already known.  It starts with a cagey phone call - "You haven't happened to hear from Mr. Edgeworth lately, have you - no, no particular reason I'm asking" - and ends with Phoenix at the precinct, dully accepting a photocopy of the note Edgeworth had left behind in his office.

          "I'm sorry," Gumshoe says.

          Phoenix folds the paper without looking at it, and then he bikes back home.

          For a while, he somehow manages not to think about what has happened.  It's not that different from the immediate aftermath of the Skye trial, after all - he hadn't been talking to Edgeworth then, and he's not talking to Edgeworth now.  Life goes on, doesn't it?  The rest of the world thinks so, anyway, and who is he to fight that?

          So he copes.  He deep cleans his bedroom, throwing away the sheets they'd slept on and buying new ones to replace them with.  He wraps his arm with so much gauze that he actually feels the weight of it, but he needs it there, needs it to act as a physical barrier between himself and his soulmark.  He ignores the calls from Gumshoe and doesn't listen to the voicemails he leaves.  He binges an absurd amount of reality television so that he doesn't have to think.

          He's normal, he tells himself.  He's fine.

          Until, of course, he isn't.

          It's two weeks later when he comes across the folded sheet of paper Gumshoe had given him - he'd brought it home and then tossed it somewhere, not yet ready to confront it.  And now that he's holding it in his hands again, having found it by chance after all these days - well, he's still not ready.  He's probably never going to be ready.  But what else is he supposed to do, spend the rest of his life consuming media nonstop so that he never has to think about Edgeworth again?

          (Yes, a part of his brain thinks.)

          No, he realizes.

          He has to move on from this somehow, if only because at some point, he knows he'll have to see Maya, Larry, Gumshoe again.  He'll have to start defending again.  He'll have to start living again.  He doesn't want to, but he has to, because -

          Because people need him.  Because he'd chosen a path specifically to help people in need.  Because he wants to do for them what Edgeworth had done for him once, and to turn away from that would be an insult to his memory.

          His throat tightens.  His memory, because that's all Edgeworth is now, and nothing more.  And there it is, he thinks bitterly: in trying to decide whether he's ready to accept the truth, he's already taken his first step in doing so.

          There's nothing for it now, then.  Setting the paper aside for the time being - he's going to save it for last, because he knows that's the part of the truth that will hurt the most - he instead turns on his phone and finally listens to all of Gumshoe's voicemails.  One is about how Edgeworth's rental car had been returned in the middle of the night to one of the Long Beach locations.  Another is about how no body has been found yet.  Yet another is about how most of Edgeworth's accounts had been closed, his lease cleanly broken, implying some degree of foresight and planning to it all.  Most of the rest are condolences, plus an open invitation to talk whenever he needs to, which is obviously an offer Phoenix has no intention of accepting.

          The next thing he does is look up the Virginia Woolf quote Edgeworth had recited on their last night together.  He learns the context behind it and who she wrote it for.  He reads the next line of the quote, the part that Edgeworth had not spoken out loud.  He stares at it.

          Once the words are burned into his memory, Phoenix turns away and at long last brings out the folded piece of paper, the photocopy of the one thing Edgeworth had left behind.  He unwraps the gauze around his arm so that his soulmark is visible, then unfolds the paper to compare the two, and nods to himself.  Besides the handwriting, they're the same.  Of course they're the same.  What was it Edgeworth had said again, when he'd been standing at the threshold of Phoenix's apartment?

          If I stay, I'm going to do something you'll hate me for.

          A near-hysterical laugh bubbles from his throat.  "You were right, Edgeworth," he says out loud.  "You did do something I hate you for.  You took everything, and you didn't even fucking stay."

          He sets Edgeworth's suicide note down, leans back in his chair, and finally lets himself cry.

*

He has his first nightmare about Edgeworth's death that evening.

          It's very simple.  Night has fallen, and Edgeworth is there at Gourd Lake, picking up large stones and placing them in his pockets.  Phoenix wants to ask what he's doing, but his dream self can't move or speak, and deep down, he already knows the answer anyway.  So he just keeps watching in silence as Edgeworth continues, stones slowly disappearing from the shore.

          Eventually, Edgeworth is finished weighing himself down, and he wades into the lake one heavy, agonizing step at a time.  But when the water reaches his waist, he pauses - and then he turns his head, catching Phoenix's eyes and offering him a smile.  Phoenix knows this smile well: it's that same soft, gentle smile he'd worn the day he'd been exonerated, captured forever by Lotta Hart's camera and sitting now in a frame that's been flat against the table for the last two weeks.

          He looks so beautiful in the moonlight.

          "If anybody could have saved me," he begins, and Phoenix recognizes at once what the quote is, recognizes the devastating final words that the real Edgeworth had almost, almost uttered aloud -

          No, he thinks desperately, don't go there, don't say the rest, please -

          " - It would have been you."

          Then he turns back and continues to walk into the lake, deeper and deeper until he disappears completely, and Phoenix can't reach out, can't scream, can't do a damn thing about it.  The only thing he can do is live with the fact that here in the dream and far too late for it to matter, he understands at last the weight behind those words, and understanding won't bring him back.

          Phoenix wakes up shivering, tears streaming down his face, and is forced to acknowledge yet another terrible truth: hating Edgeworth doesn't make it hurt any less.

*

Of all the nightmares he has in the next few months, that first one turns out to be the kindest.  Edgeworth dies, of course, in all of them, and leaves no body behind.  Sometimes, like the first one, it happens at Gourd Lake, and he sinks gently into the water, never to re-emerge.  Sometimes he jumps off some unspecified bridge into the raging waters below.  And sometimes, after he returns his car to one of the rental places in Long Beach, he walks to the shore, and then he just keeps on walking until he's surrounded by the Pacific, where the riptides sweep him away.

          Every now and then, Edgeworth will speak to him, like he did on the first night.  "How could you have missed all of these obvious signs?" he asks during one.

          "Why didn't you stop me?" he whispers during another, leaning over dream-Phoenix's ear as Phoenix lies asleep on his bed before Edgeworth departs.

          "You could have prevented this if you'd told me the truth," he accuses in yet another, and he grabs Phoenix's arm, shoving his sleeve up to expose his soulmark.

          Phoenix finds that he'd rather have the nightmares where Edgeworth just dies in silence, and the fact that he has preferences about which of these he's most willing to endure makes him feel sick to his stomach.

          Finally, though, there's some reprieve when he's reunited with Maya - it happens in probably the worst way possible, where she's accused of murder again - but he's able to focus enough to prove her innocence, and the stress of the case keeps him from dreaming about anything else for a couple of nights.  And then she's back in his life, and for the first time in four months, things almost seem to be normal once more.  Until -

          "Something's different about you, Nick."

          Phoenix is dozing in his office chair, his eyes having closed without him meaning to do so.  This is his default state these days, given that he's reluctant to intentionally sleep when he knows what awaits him if he does.  Without fully rousing, he manages to let out a bleary, "What do you mean?"

          From somewhere near him, he can hear Maya sigh and move closer.  "Well, not to be a dick, but look at you," she says.  There's the whooshing of fabric, and Phoenix assumes she's gesturing in his general direction.

          "Thanks," he says.

          "Yup," Maya replies cheerfully.  She pauses, then continues, "It's about what you told me a little while ago, isn't it?  About Edgeworth being gone?"

          Hearing that name sends him bolting upright, eyes flying open, and it's all he can do to not glare at her.  It's not her fault that she doesn't know just how fraught a topic this is, but god, this isn't a conversation he wants to have, now or ever.  "What makes you say that?"

          Maya shrugs.  "I'm right, aren't I?  So what happened?"

          Phoenix doesn't want to lie to her, but he also can't tell her the truth, so he just slumps back into his chair and doesn't answer.  In response, Maya sighs and brings out her phone, continuing, "Guess I'll have to ask Larry, if you won't say."

          "You talk to Larry?"

          "No."  Maya starts tapping at her keypad.  "He gave me his number when we were at Gourd Lake, though, so that could change any second now."

          Phoenix isn't thrilled to hear about this for several reasons, though he manages not to be vocal about any of them.  Instead, he just grits out, "Larry can't help you.  I haven't even told him about Edgeworth."

          Maya snaps her phone shut at that, glaring at him.  "What the hell, Nick?" she says.  "So Edgeworth is 'gone', whatever that even means, and you're not telling anyone about it?  Like, fine, don't tell me, but doesn't Larry have a right to know?  Weren't they friends, too?  You don't own Edgeworth - "

          "Maya," Phoenix cuts in sharply, and she abruptly stops, her eyes going wide.  "I'm sorry, but I can't talk about him, okay?  All you need to know is that we won't be facing off against him in court anymore because I - because - "  He pauses to draw in a deep breath, shaking his head.  "Look, if you try to get me to go into any further detail I'm going to fall apart.  So just - just don't bring his name up in front of me again, okay?  Please."

          There's a long pause as they just look at each other, but finally, Maya slips her phone back into her pocket, glancing away.  "I don't think you're doing the right thing by not talking about it," she says.  "But fine.  I'll stop."

          "Thank you," Phoenix murmurs, and to his great embarrassment, he can feel his eyes start to water.  God, how can so much time have passed, and yet he's still driven to tears about it?  He tries to wipe at them before Maya can see, but it's too late: she turns back while his hand is still against his face, and it's obvious what he's just been doing.

          Quietly, she drifts over to Phoenix, then wraps her arms around him and holds him close.  "Nick," she whispers, "whatever happened, it wasn't your fault.  It's going to be okay."

          You don't know that, Phoenix thinks, but he wraps his arms around her in return and pretends that he actually deserves her comfort, even if it's only for a moment.

*

There is one last truth that Phoenix must accept.

          In the worst of his nightmares, he's standing there with Edgeworth at Long Beach, looking out at the ocean as they curl their toes in the sand.  It's a quiet evening besides the ever-present sound of the waves lapping against the shore, and Edgeworth is illuminated only from the lights of the city behind him.

          "Are you ready?" dream-Phoenix asks.

          There's no immediate response, and instead Edgeworth just gazes into the horizon, the wind whipping against his hair.  His expression is unreadable in the darkness.  Eventually, though, he lets out a sharp exhale of breath and nods, extending a trembling hand to Phoenix, who accepts it.

          For a short while, Phoenix is content to remain where he is, hand-in-hand with Edgeworth as they continue to stand barefoot on the beach.  But the moment can't last forever, so finally, Phoenix gives Edgeworth's hand a gentle squeeze before leading them from the sand to the ocean.  Though the water feels so cold around him, he doesn't stop, and neither does Edgeworth.  Together, they make their way further and further from the shore until only their shoulders remain above water, at which point they pause to look at one another.

          Here, Phoenix kisses him, and Edgeworth kisses back, open, trusting, despite where they currently are.  They smile at each other afterward, foreheads touching, fingers still entwined.  Then, Phoenix uses his free hand to bring out the gun that ended Gregory Edgeworth's life -

          - Or the halberd from the King of Prosecutors trophy -

          - Or the pistol from Gourd Lake -

          - Or Joe Darke's broken blade -

          And Edgeworth collapses into the water, pulling Phoenix along with him as blood blossoms around them both.  And as the two of them are whisked away by the ocean currents, Phoenix realizes he can't tell if Edgeworth is the one dragging him into the darkness, or if it's the other way around.

*

*

"It's not true."

          Phoenix lifts his head up from his desk, wondering when he'd fallen asleep at his laptop.  Hopefully Maya didn't notice.  "What isn't true?  Are you reading things on the internet and getting mad again?"

          "I'm always mad about things on the internet," Maya says.  She looks over at him, and the expression on her face tells him that they're about to talk about something he really doesn't want to talk about.  "But this isn't about that.  This is about what von Karma said last week, when we were investigating the circus case."

          "No, Maya - "

          "No, Nick," Maya interrupts.  She gets off the couch, walks over to him, and slams her hands on the desk - not with any great force, but the fact that she's doing this at all is enough to shock Phoenix.  "I know you said not to bring it up again, but I keep thinking about it, and I can't watch this anymore.  If you're not going to help yourself, then I have to."  Eyes flashing, she lifts a finger and jabs it at his face.  "That's what's been affecting you this entire time, isn't it?  The reason you look like death warmed over these days.  Edgeworth's suicide, and how you blame yourself for it."

          Phoenix takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down before he snaps at her.  "Von Karma was just saying things.  She's upset, too.  Of course she thinks I'm responsible, and that's - that's whatever.  I'm not going to change her mind.  So let's just move on."

          "It's not her mind I want to change," Maya says.

          For a few seconds, they just glare at each other in silence.  Eventually, Phoenix swivels his chair around so that he's facing the bookshelf instead, unable to meet her eyes anymore.  Very mature, he thinks to himself, but even if he knows he should be embarrassed by his own behavior, he isn't.  It's not like Maya's being mature, anyway.  How many times does he have to ask her to stop bringing this up?  Literally every single time this topic has been broached, he asks her to stop, she says she will, and then -

          "Edgeworth's your soulmate, isn't he."

          He brings his hands up to his lips, but not quickly enough to stop the gasp that comes out.  To talk about something as taboo as this - combined with it being about Edgeworth - "Why," he starts, painfully aware of how unconvincing he sounds, "would you say that?"

          To Maya's credit, she doesn't tease him or crack a joke.  Instead, the chair spins, and Phoenix finds himself facing her once more.  "Maybe I'm not old enough to have a soulmark yet," she says softly.  "But I know what they are.  And yours - yours must be the note that von Karma said he left behind.  So you've known all these years that it was him, and that he was going to do this, and that's why you tried so hard to save him.  And that's also why you blame yourself, isn't it?  You think that if you hadn't interfered with his life, maybe he'd still be alive today."

          Phoenix's first instinct is to deny it, to call her crazy for even suggesting such a thing.  But even as his mouth moves to form the words, he realizes that he just - he just can't.  Maya has somehow discovered a truth he'd never thought would be revealed, and while it's terrifying, a part of him can't help but find it liberating, too.  He's carried the weight of this alone for so long, and god, he doesn't want to do that anymore.

          "Remember," Maya adds, "what you told me after Sis was killed?"

          At this, though, any relief he felt immediately vanishes.  Maya means the best; he knows she does, but - she isn't the right person to share this burden with.  Her words are a painful reminder that she's gone through too much at too young an age to be bothered with his own problems, especially when he's the one responsible for everything.  He doesn't deserve her help.  He doesn't deserve anyone's help.

          So he shifts his legs, twisting the chair away from her and breaking eye contact.  "It's not the same," he whispers at last, and if she takes that as confirmation that all her theorizing is correct, then so be it.  "You know it's not the same."

          "Shut up, Nick," Maya replies, but her tone is gentle.  She walks around the desk so that he's facing her again, and he doesn't resist as she reaches over and takes his hands.  "You were there for me when Sis died, and I'm going to be here for you now, whether you like it or not.  And look, I know you're cagey and weirdly secretive, and I swear I'm not going to ask for any more details or bring up the thing I just brought up again.  But you know what I am going to do?  I'm going to tell you over and over that it wasn't your fault, just like you told me even when I didn't believe you, until - "  Here, she breaks off and shrugs, then continues with a tentative smile, "Until I did."

          Phoenix swallows heavily, looking down at their hands and then up at her again.  Her eyes are wet, and he realizes that his own are, too.  "How could that have possibly been enough?" he asks, voice quiet.

          "I had faith in you," Maya says simply, and her smile broadens.  She squeezes his hands afterward, then lets go, tilting her head at him.  "So.  I'm going to hug you now, and you're going to accept it and not think to yourself about how you don't deserve it, okay?"

          "Okay," Phoenix replies before he can think any better of it.  And as she wraps her arms around him, he finds himself still thinking that no, he doesn't deserve it - but for the first time, he also thinks that maybe at some point, he actually will.

*

It takes two more months, but one morning, Phoenix wakes up not to darkness, but to sunlight and birdsong for the first time in almost a year, and he nearly cries in relief.

*

He knows peace for a grand total of three weeks when everything seems to happen all at once: Maya is kidnapped, a new case with impossible stakes is thrust upon him, and Edgeworth - Edgeworth is back, spouting cryptic bullshit that Phoenix has absolutely no patience for.

          "I don't care what you have to say," he interrupts as soon as Franziska takes her leave, and only the fact that they're at the criminal affairs department keeps Phoenix from raising his voice any higher.  If he were a little more put together, they wouldn't even be having this conversation in public at all, but Edgeworth hasn't exactly left him with much of a choice, has he?

          To Edgeworth's credit, he does at least go silent immediately, face impassive.  It seems to be an invitation to continue, so Phoenix does: "You don't get to come in here and lecture me.  You died, Edgeworth.  I spent a year mourning you and blaming myself, and I'm done now.  It would have been better for me - for everyone - if you'd just fucking stayed dead."

          The words are out before he can stop them, and there's a little part of him that recoils in horror at how cruel his outburst is - but only a little part.  Maya's the only reason he made it through the past year, and her life is on the line as they speak.  Taking the time to figure out how the hell he feels about his dead soulmate who actually faked his suicide and isn't dead after all isn't something he has the luxury of doing.

          "Phoenix - " Edgeworth begins.

          No.  Edgeworth has no right to use that name, not when the last time he'd spoken it was when they'd slept together, only for Phoenix to wake up alone in a cold bed the next morning.  He's struck yet again by the audacity of Edgeworth's actions, past and present.  Has he changed at all?  Is this a joke to him?  The thought of it suddenly feels so oppressive, and - 

          His fist connects against Edgeworth's cheek, making an unsettling thumping sound as it does, and then Edgeworth is stumbling back, clutching at his face.  One of the nearby detectives rises to her feet, looking alarmed, but Edgeworth waves her off with his free hand, eyes still focused on Phoenix.  There's something in his expression in that instant - not just shock, but something more that Phoenix can't quite identify - but then he straightens, and the moment passes.  "Did that help?" he asks quietly, and Phoenix doesn't know if he's pleased or horrified to hear the sheer amount of resignation in his voice.

          In the end, he supposes it's neither.  Punching Edgeworth doesn't bring him any closer to solving his myriad of problems, but he's also still upset enough that he can't pretend that Edgeworth didn't deserve it.  Ultimately, he just shrugs.  "Are you going to continue to be cryptic or are you going to actually do something useful?"

          Edgeworth wipes away the dot of blood that's appeared on his lip with a thumb, staring at it for several seconds afterward, like he can't believe it's there.  "Alright, then," he says at last.  "Let's discuss the case."

*

In the aftermath, Phoenix doesn't know what to do next.

          Maya's safe, and there's no doubt that Edgeworth played a critical role in that, something Phoenix is deeply grateful for regardless of all his other feelings toward the man.  For a few days after the trial, he had let himself be carried away by the sheer relief of it all, and when Edgeworth had been seated beside him at the celebratory dinner, he hadn't bat an eye.  Phoenix had even apologized for the punching and the words he'd said before and after, which Edgeworth had waved off - "You had every reason to be upset," he'd said, and then he'd abruptly changed the topic, clearly not wanting to discuss it any further.  But now that grace period is over, and Maya and Pearls are back in Kurain while Phoenix finds himself spending his days alone in his office once more.

          There'd been no chance to talk with Maya one-on-one before she'd left.  Phoenix could tell she'd been dying to discuss Edgeworth's return with him, but Pearls had always been around - something neither of them could begrudge - and all she'd been able to leave him with when he'd seen them off at the train station was a hug and a whispered, "Put yourself first, Nick."

          He has no idea what that's supposed to entail - that is, until one Friday afternoon, when Edgeworth appears in his office, and Phoenix is at last forced to confront him alone.

          "Wright," Edgeworth greets quietly as he steps inside, letting the door shut behind him.  

          "Edgeworth," Phoenix responds.

          This is the first time Phoenix has seen him since the dinner.  He'd thought, of course, about visiting Edgeworth's office in the days since then to do something, but when he tried to figure out what that something should be, his mind blanked, and so he never went.  Edgeworth, on his end, hadn't attempted to contact him either, and Phoenix had told himself that their mutual ignoring of one another was an arrangement he was happy to keep.  But now Edgeworth is standing here in his office, looking exactly the same as the ghost Phoenix had finally let go of, and Phoenix is half-afraid that he's going to punch him again.

          "I thought," Edgeworth says very delicately, as though aware of Phoenix's thoughts, "that it is about time we had a talk."

          "About what, my 'unhealthy, one-sided hatred'?" Phoenix replies, and as soon as the words leave his mouth, he realizes why exactly it is that he hadn't sought the other man out first.

          The truth is, despite the punching and the anger, he doesn't actually hate Edgeworth.

          Oh, he had, he certainly had - after he'd been forced to acknowledge to himself that Edgeworth was gone, Phoenix had hated him intensely for it, for asking for Phoenix's faith only to throw it all away.  Phoenix had spent three long years dreading the words of his soulmark, but then for one beautiful, perfect night, he'd thought that he'd actually gotten through, and that that terrible, promised future would not actually come to pass - only for Edgeworth to write that suicide letter and abandon him after all.

          So Phoenix had hated him, hated him for the betrayal and the heartbreak and the nightmares.  It had faded over time as it'd been replaced with bone-crushing guilt over Phoenix's own role in all of it - not exactly an improvement - and then it had surged that day in the criminal affairs department, when Edgeworth had miraculously come back, acting as though nothing had happened.

          But the hate is gone now, smoothed over by the trial and the assurance that the horror he'd thought was real is actually not.  And though he's still upset, what Phoenix knows is this: he's deeply, profoundly grateful that Edgeworth is alive and well, and he wants nothing more than for them to be back in each other's lives.

          And that's the problem, isn't it?

          Edgeworth did something so terrible, so trust-shattering that Phoenix had nightmares about it for nearly a year, and still he knows that if Edgeworth says something even slightly reconciliatory, Phoenix will give in and sweep everything under the rug, ready to pick things right back up.

          No, if there's anything worth hating here, it's the kind of person he is where Edgeworth is concerned.

          And so that's the reason he couldn't seek Edgeworth out himself earlier - because he couldn't give Edgeworth that chance to explain himself, not yet, not until Phoenix has had his own chance to process this all on his own.

          And that, he knows, is the reason he can't give Edgeworth this chance now.

          Put yourself first, Maya had told him, and he at last understands that this is what she had meant.

          Edgeworth exhales sharply, gaze wandering before it returns to Phoenix.  "I was hoping I could change your mind about that," he admits.

          But Phoenix is secure now with the knowledge of what he has to do next, and he takes a deep breath of his own as he steels himself for his reply:

          "Except I'm not going to let you."

          Edgeworth blinks, looking taken aback.  "Pardon?" he manages after a moment.

          "I said what I said."  Phoenix rises from his desk at this point, walking toward him until they're separated by only two feet or so.  "Edgeworth.  Take a few seconds and think about what you did to everyone who knew you.  What you did to me.  You made a mess of my head, and I'm still trying to clean it up."  He pauses, swallows, then continues, "You of all people should understand the need to have alone time to figure things out.  The only difference is that unlike you, I'm not going to fake my death to do so."

          It's only two feet, but it feels like so much more, and as they both look down at the gap between them, Phoenix suspects Edgeworth thinks the same.

          "I assume," Edgeworth finally replies, "that you'd like me to leave, then."

          He looks so solemn as he speaks, and Phoenix fights the urge to immediately take it all back.  But he has to stand firm in this.  He can't be the kind of person who'll uncritically let someone into his life and have them wreak havoc with his heart, not again, and he needs to deal with Edgeworth's actions on his own terms.  It doesn't matter if Edgeworth is his soulmate or not - or maybe it's because Edgeworth is his soulmate that Phoenix needs to do this.  Fate isn't supposed to be some sort of magic wand that lets him forgive all the hurts.

          Still, though, he doesn't want their meeting to end quite like this, so he offers, "Edgeworth, for the record, I'm glad you're alive and that you figured things out for yourself.  You're a good person, and the world is better with you in it.  It's just - I don't like who I am where you're concerned, and I want to... not feel like that anymore."  He sighs, staring at a spot behind Edgeworth's head.  "You came here today to try and make things right between us," he continues after a second.  "If you still want to do that, then start by respecting my wishes to be alone."

          For a few long moments, Edgeworth gazes at him, and Phoenix can't tell if he's about to push back - but eventually, he exhales sharply and nods.  "Very well," he replies quietly, turning toward the door.  "Until next time, then."

          "Wait," Phoenix says.

          Edgeworth pauses, looking over his shoulder at him.  "Yes?"

          Phoenix swallows hard, aware that this is the last thing he should be bringing up, especially when he's the one sending Edgeworth away.  It goes against everything he's been telling himself up to this point.  He can't give Edgeworth a chance to make his way back into his heart so easily, but -

          But he has to know.

          "That one night we shared, before you - left," he begins, and to his horror, his voice cracks partway through.  Nonetheless, he continues: "Was that real?"

          At this, Edgeworth turns away, facing the door again, and Phoenix can see his shoulders heave.  "The fact that I gave you cause to doubt," he murmurs, "is perhaps one of my greater failings."

          The words are so quiet that Phoenix isn't even sure he's heard correctly.  He opens his mouth, about to reply, but then -

          "Good day, Wright," Edgeworth says abruptly, louder this time.  The door opens and shuts, and then he's gone once again.

*

In the days following that meeting in his office, Phoenix decides to fall back to an old habit: writing letters to Edgeworth.  They're long, rambling, unedited letters, and each one goes into detail about some unique way the man had made a mess of his head - the hate, the love, the nightmares, the guilt.  Everything he's felt over the past year, he writes down, and whenever he finishes a letter, he sits with it for a while before tearing it up and tossing it out.

          This time, these letters aren't for Edgeworth.  They're for himself.

          It takes a while, but eventually he runs out of new things to say, and after an even longer while, he even runs out of the desire to repeat the old things he'd already brought up.  At some point, he realizes that he can look at the one photo of Edgeworth he has - the one taken by Lotta after that trial - and not feel like he has to whisper why or how could you to it anymore.  It's not that he's forgiven Edgeworth - he probably can't until Edgeworth says his piece, anyway - but at the very least, he's accepted that it happened and that it can't be changed.  Is that closure?  It doesn't feel like it, but it's better than nothing, right?

          So, he has closure now, or at least something vaguely approximating it, and it's at this point that he thinks they can finally talk face-to-face again.  But lacking a current phone number, much less a current address, Phoenix only really has one way to reach him - and that's to visit his workplace at the Prosecutor's Building.

          The problem with this reveals itself as soon as he steps into the lobby: Miles Edgeworth, as it turns out, doesn't have an office here.

          He nearly collapses right there in front of the directory, an all-too-familiar feeling of panic rising within him - god, isn't he supposed to be better by now - and it isn't until Gumshoe makes a timely appearance in the lobby that Phoenix can feel his heart rate slowly return to normal.  "He's just taking a leave to study how the courts work elsewhere," Gumshoe explains in response to Phoenix's distraught questioning, and Phoenix nods slowly at this, telling himself that yes, this is normal, explainable, fine.  Edgeworth hasn't disappeared, he's just not here right now.  And whether it's out of pity or something else - Phoenix doesn't want to ask - Gumshoe adds, "I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you called him," and he presses a piece of paper into Phoenix's clammy hands.

          They eventually part ways, and at some point Phoenix finds himself back in his own office again, wondering how to approach this.  What other courts are there to study?  Is he in San Francisco?  Sacramento?  Or another state altogether?  What's Phoenix going to do, ask him to fly back from New York or Texas or wherever he might be so they can talk face to face?

          It doesn't matter, he tells himself.  They'll connect first, and he can figure out the rest later.  So he finally unfolds the paper Gumshoe had given him, reading Edgeworth's new number scrawled in his hasty script.

          It's international.

          His mind momentarily goes blank.  This is not some temporary phone number for some temporary trip.  This is Edgeworth's only phone number.  Despite whatever Gumshoe had said about being on leave, Phoenix suddenly finds himself shaking with doubt - does Edgeworth actually ever plan on coming back to Los Angeles?  To Phoenix?  Yes, Phoenix had asked him to leave, but he'd never meant for it to be permanent.

          Not that, of course, Edgeworth is beholden to him in any way, even if Phoenix can't help but think otherwise at times.  At least he hasn't pretended to commit suicide.  Still, just the thought of it - that Edgeworth had already disappeared once, then come back, only to then just disappear again - is difficult to comprehend.  Of all the selfish, backward things to do, especially knowing the effect it's had on everyone in Edgeworth's life -

          Unless...

          "Oh, my god," Phoenix breathes.

          He knows why Edgeworth left.  He knows why Edgeworth ran away again.

          Phoenix is his soulmate, and he's invoked Edgeworth's soulmark.

          He doesn't know what exactly Edgeworth's words are, but, he thinks guiltily, he has plenty of possibilities to choose from.  He'd pretty much told Edgeworth to his face he'd wished he'd died for real that day in the criminal affairs department, hadn't he?  And if that wasn't enough, he'd followed it with an actual punch - something he'd apologized for later and deeply regrets now, but the fact is, he'd still done it.  And then that day here in his office, when he'd asked Edgeworth to leave, when he'd told him he didn't like the kind of person Edgeworth had made him into...

          Slowly, he opens his drawer and places Edgeworth's number inside.  There'll be no call made today, or even any other day, not for a while.  As much as he hates that Edgeworth's made a mess of his head once again, this time, Phoenix can't blame him for it.

          They're soulmates, he thinks, and yet they can't even bear to share the same continent with one another.

*

A year passes.  Edgeworth never reaches out.  Phoenix returns the favor.

          Then he falls off a burning bridge, and suddenly everything that came before stops mattering.

Chapter Text

He wakes up in the hospital.

          Everything hurts.  His body feels like a giant bruise, he can barely breathe through his nose, and his head is aching sharply.  For a moment, he panics - what is he doing here?  What happened?  Where's -

          "Maya," he gasps, and he surges upward, ignoring the pain as he tries to get into a sitting position.  Maya's across the bridge, trapped with a murderer, and he has to save her.

          "Please calm down, Mr. Wright," a voice says.

          With a jolt, Phoenix realizes he's not alone in the room.  After sagging back into the bed, he cranes his head to look at the speaker - it's no one he recognizes, but she's in scrubs, so he assumes she's a nurse here.  Maybe she knows more, and so he reaches weakly in her direction, making a failed attempt to grab her sleeve.  "Maya," he repeats, coughing mid-syllable.

          The woman shakes her head.  "I'm not Maya," she says gently.  "Get some rest.  The doctor will check in on you soon."

          Phoenix doesn't know how to respond to that.  Obviously she isn't Maya, which he's perfectly aware of, because Maya is gone and this woman is not.  The idea of conveying everything that's happened so far seems so impossible right now, though.  Instead, he's left to watch helplessly as she fiddles with his IV and then takes her leave, the door swinging open to reveal the hallway beyond -

          And there, standing on the other side, is Miles Edgeworth.

          He looks achingly familiar, wearing a dark peacoat Phoenix remembers from what almost feels like another life, mid-conversation with another nurse.  When the door opens, he starts, gaze shifting - and then their eyes meet, gray to brown.

          Time freezes.

          He's my soulmate, Phoenix thinks dumbly.

          And then, just like that, the floodgates seem to open, because a flurry of thoughts start running through his head, almost too fast to comprehend: he's my soulmate, I'm his soulmate, I hate him, I love him, he hurt me, I hurt him, I sent him away, he came back -

          He came back -

          And then time moves again.  Edgeworth's eyes go wide, and Phoenix can see him stammering something to whoever he's speaking to, already turning like he's about to leave.

          Phoenix has a split second to decide.  This is Edgeworth, the man who's shaped his life for better or for worse more than any other person on this earth, who's brought him more joy and pain than anyone else has.  Does he make him stay, or let him go?

          He's already torn out the IV and stumbled out of the bed before the thought even finishes forming, falling roughly onto his knees at the same time the door shuts and hides Edgeworth from view.  Undeterred, he scrambles back onto his feet, grabbing onto whatever he can to stay upright and lurching toward the door.  The door handle disorients him for a moment, but eventually he's able to escape the room, and he can see Edgeworth's back as he's striding away.

          "Edgeworth!" he croaks, but between the ambient noise of the hallway and his own hoarse voice, it's not nearly loud enough, and Edgeworth doesn't pause.  But he's almost at the end of the hallway, about to disappear from sight, and if Phoenix doesn't stop him now, he'll be gone again.  Desperately, he somehow finds the strength to lunge forward, shoving people aside as he calls out, "Edgeworth - !"

          It's too much for him.  He goes down hard, crashing into a cart and sending the contents of it clattering to the ground at the same time a nurse runs to his side and pulls him back up.  She's saying something, but he has no idea what, because all he can focus on right now is the man who's finally turned around to look at him.

          "Edgeworth," he repeats.

          The next several moments pass by in a blur.  Somehow, he finds himself back in his room, but it's fine because Edgeworth is with him now.  In the relative silence, they both watch as the nurse hooks the IV back up and checks Phoenix over, and when she leaves, there's no third party to observe anymore, and they can only look at each other.

          Neither of them are apparently willing to speak just yet.  Instead, Edgeworth walks to the sink, filling a paper cup with water before returning to Phoenix's bedside and holding it up to his lips.  Phoenix accepts the drink gratefully, then, since Edgeworth is conveniently right here, reaches up to grab him by his arm to pull him closer.  Dimly, he's aware that this is forward and tactless, but the one good thing about being in pain and exhausted is that he doesn't care about those sorts of silly social conventions.  "Why'd you run again," he slurs thickly.

          Edgeworth sighs and looks down at Phoenix's hand.  Now that he's here and facing him, Phoenix can see that he looks like a mess - a beautiful mess, because Edgeworth will always be beautiful as far as Phoenix is concerned - but his hair is in disarray, his eyes are bloodshot, and his skin is pale.  Phoenix wonders what happened to make him this way.  "I, er, apologize," Edgeworth says after a long moment.  "I know it's been some time since we were last in contact, and I thought my presence here would only upset you."  He pauses.  "But I just... I..."  His mouth moves for a moment more, but in the end, nothing else comes out, and he shrugs.

          That's not good enough.  "Just what," Phoenix presses.

          Edgeworth lets out a sharp exhale of breath, eyes briefly fluttering shut.  "I had to see you," he whispers at last.  "To make sure you were alright."  He swallows hard, continuing, "Phoenix, I thought you'd died."

          Phoenix.  It's nice, hearing his name on Edgeworth's lips.  He has a vague memory of being angry the last time Edgeworth had said it, but things have changed since then, and he's too exhausted to feel anger in any case.  It's interesting, though - is this why Edgeworth looks so awful?  Some part of him can't help but notice the irony of this - of Edgeworth being upset in the wake of a friend's supposed death, given Phoenix's own experiences not so long ago.  A bigger part of him, though, is just glad that after all this time, Edgeworth came back, even if Phoenix had to fall off a bridge to make it happen.

          So he cuts off the cold retort he could have made, instead tugging on Edgeworth's arm to bring him still closer.  Now isn't the time to push him away.  "I'm here," he says quietly, though the effect is ruined by another coughing fit, prompting Edgeworth to hold the cup of water to his lips again.  When he gets it under control, he continues haltingly, "And - and you're here.  For... how long?"  Edgeworth had been so ready to leave again.  If Phoenix hadn't been conscious when the nurse had left, would he even have seen Edgeworth at all?  Would Phoenix have just... never known he'd been here?

          Edgeworth shrugs, the movement somehow feeling so heavy.  "I don't know," he admits.  "I didn't plan this.  I chartered a private jet to fly here as soon as Larry called - "

          "Larry," Phoenix chokes out, and he's abruptly reminded that there's more at stake here than whatever the hell is going on between the two of them.  He knows that there's so much they have to say to each other, and frankly, the idea that Edgeworth dropped everything and chartered a goddamn jet for  him makes him feel something that he can't quite identify yet, but there isn't time for that right now.  "Oh, god - there was a murder, and Maya's trapped with whoever the murderer is, and they took Iris away - Edgeworth, you have to get me out of here so I can defend her - "

          "Out of the question," Edgeworth interrupts.  "You're fevered and can barely move right now.  I'll help you in any other way you need, but you're staying right here."

          Phoenix blinks at him, nonplussed at the denial.  Still, Edgeworth's words - in any other way - bounce around in his brain for a moment, and then -

          "That's it," he breathes.

          Before Edgeworth can stop him, Phoenix starts reciting everything he knows in a rush - about the murder, about Maya, about the bridge burning, and about Iris, the nun who reminds him so much of the woman he had known once upon a time but can't actually be her, and yet - and yet.  When he's at last exhausted his words, he lets go of Edgeworth's arm long enough to grab his attorney's badge and the magatama, holding them out to him.  "Use these," he rasps, voice getting increasingly hoarse after the long period of uninterrupted talking.  "The magatama will let you see into people's hearts, and the badge... you'll need it..."

          Edgeworth stares down at the offered hand, then back at Phoenix.  "You can't possibly be asking what I think you are," he says.

          "I am," Phoenix replies.

          His arm droops, trembling with the effort to keep it up as he waits for Edgeworth to respond further, but he resists the urge to drop it completely.  Edgeworth is the only one in the world who can do what Phoenix needs him to do, and though he knows their past has been so fraught, there's still some part of him that irrationally, unshakably believes in the other man.  If Edgeworth accepts, Phoenix knows that he'll move heaven and earth to find the truth.

          Finally, finally, Edgeworth reaches out, carefully picking up both items and gazing down at them.  "Very well," he says, and it's almost enough to make Phoenix cry in relief.  "Then I suppose there's no time to waste.  I should get going."

          He turns at that point, and the sight of it stirs something deep and terrible in Phoenix's fevered brain - never mind the fact that Edgeworth has a perfectly valid reason to leave, never mind the fact he's doing so literally because Phoenix has asked a favor of him.  Because the thing is, if Edgeworth leaves, when will he return?  Will it take another year?  Another fall?  And so Phoenix finds his body moving on pure instinct, lurching forward despite his exhaustion so that he can reach for Edgeworth again.  "W-wait," he stammers as he grips at Edgeworth's hand for dear life, because he has to get this out now in case there isn't a chance to later.  "You told me earlier that you thought your presence here would upset me, and - I need you to know that it doesn't.  Not because you're doing this for me, and not because I'm running a fever, but because I - I did miss you."

          That last part is blurted out before he can think better of it, but he realizes as soon as he speaks the words that it's true.  It's been two years now since Edgeworth broke his heart, but it wouldn't have hurt the way it did if Edgeworth hadn't meant so much to him.  And while Phoenix is still not sure if he's actually forgiven Edgeworth for anything, he knows that it's better having him here than not.  "Thank you," he adds, squeezing his hand.  "For respecting my wishes when I asked you to leave, but also... also for coming back."

          Edgeworth gazes down at their entwined fingers, then up at Phoenix, expression going soft.  "You're welcome," he says quietly, and to Phoenix's surprise, he squeezes back, and warmth rushes through him.  A little hesitantly, Edgeworth continues, "Once all this is over, we could - talk, if you'd like...?"

          "Yes," Phoenix whispers.  "Please."

          He relaxes then, the assurance of future plans with Edgeworth soothing something within him, and at last he's able to let Edgeworth's hand go.  And this time, when Edgeworth turns away, Phoenix can bear to watch it happen, knowing that he'll be back later, that there's going to be a later for them.

          "Good," Edgeworth murmurs.  "Until then, take care of yourself.  Listen to the doctor."  Before he actually takes his leave, though, he pauses and glances over his shoulder, looking in his direction.  "You should know that I missed you as well, Phoenix," he says after a moment, and he gives him a trembling, tentative smile.

          Phoenix smiles back.

*

"There's nothing else I can say," Edgeworth whispers as they sit beside each other in Hazakura Temple's garden.  "Not after you chose to become a lawyer for my sake... and not after you saved me..."

          It's the next day, and instead of still being at the hospital, Phoenix has - against everyone's wishes - checked himself out in order to join the investigation.  Sure, he still has a fever.  Sure, he's still coughing his lungs out.  But it's okay.  He's armed with a face mask and an array of meds he bought from CVS before heading up Eagle Mountain, and he's spent the day praying that he won't just pass out at some point.

          For the time being, he's still upright, and Edgeworth is next to him, looking pale after the earthquake.  It's a rare moment of quiet in an otherwise chaotic day of investigation, and Phoenix can't help but be grateful that he did come - not just for Maya's and Iris' sakes, but for Edgeworth's as well.  Despite the past two years, sitting here with him now somehow feels as natural as it did before everything had fallen apart between them.  To some extent, he knows it's the adrenaline of the case holding them together, like with the Engarde trial - but right now, they're not talking about the case.  They're talking about Edgeworth.

          "Self-pity doesn't suit you," Phoenix replies.  He glances over at him then, studying his face.  Edgeworth looks better than he did when they'd met at the hospital yesterday, though the earthquake didn't do him any favors.  Still, there's a softness in his eyes that Phoenix doesn't think was there before, and he can't help but find it compelling.  For the first time, he wonders if Edgeworth's time in Europe actually did him some good.

          "No?" Edgeworth murmurs.  "Phoenix, the only reason I am here at all is because you had no other options, and look at what I have allowed to happen."

          Phoenix shakes his head vehemently in response, even if it makes him a little dizzy.  "Are you kidding me?" he asks.  "Edgeworth, no one is holding Iris getting away against you, and you were brilliant in court this morning.  There isn't anyone else on earth who I could have counted on to do what you did, and I owe you everything for that.  You're incredible."

          "Incredible," Edgeworth echoes, and Phoenix can almost hear the disbelief in his voice.  "You'd really say such a thing, after all that's happened between us?"

          "Well, it's true, isn't it?"

          A few stray snowflakes are blown down from a tree, and Phoenix watches them land and melt into nothingness against them as he patiently waits for a response.  Finally, Edgeworth replies: "If that's what you believe, then that's enough for me."

          "It is," Phoenix says without hesitation.  There's no denying that their relationship is complicated, that Phoenix can never truly pinpoint what he feels for the other man in any given moment - but there's also no denying this simple fact.  Edgeworth is incredible, and has been since they were nine years old.  And this Edgeworth, in particular - this Edgeworth who Phoenix is slowly realizing is a changed man after Europe, who did something for him no one else possibly could have - is more incredible than ever.

          He wonders if it's too late now to hug it out with him.  And maybe it's not a good idea anyway, if he's contagious.  But he wants to do something, so after a moment of hesitation, he leans over, touching their shoulders together.

          Edgeworth stiffens briefly in surprise, and from the corner of his eye, Phoenix can see his mouth open, like he's about to question what is happening.  But then he seems to accept it, because he leans toward Phoenix in return, and for a little while longer, they sit there in the silence and feel nothing but the warmth of each other's bodies.

*

After the trial, after Dahlia's ghost is banished for good, after the truth of what had befallen Mia and Diego is revealed, Edgeworth appears once again in Phoenix's office.

          "You came," Phoenix says softly.

          The door shuts gently behind Edgeworth, who nods and takes a few steps closer.  "I suppose I had to, didn't I?" he replies.  "I'm still sharing an office with Franziska, and I'm - ah - aware that you don't have a local number to call where I'm concerned.  I'm glad you were here this time.  Your office has been closed the past few days."

          "Oh, yeah, I spent some time with Maya and Pearls at the temple after the case," Phoenix begins, but he finds himself trailing off as the implications of what Edgeworth is saying slowly dawns on him.  He'd disappeared, told Edgeworth nothing, and still Edgeworth had apparently repeatedly visited until Phoenix had returned.  Edgeworth could have simply tried once and left, but he'd come back - come back here, again and again, to the place where Phoenix had asked him to leave one year ago, the place where Phoenix had hurt him, because... why?

          He knows why, he thinks.

          That feeling - the one he'd first felt in the hospital, when Edgeworth had so casually said he'd chartered a jet to see him - the one he'd then felt over and over during the investigation and the trial, seeing Edgeworth do everything in his power to find the truth, just like Phoenix knew he would - comes back stronger than ever, and the force of it weighs almost physically on him.  He's not entirely sure how to name it, but whatever it is, it makes his arms tense, his fingers clench.

          Suddenly Edgeworth feels too far away.  Phoenix pushes himself to his feet, rounding his desk and stepping toward him.  "Miles," he says, and he shocks them both with his utterance - Edgeworth's eyes momentarily widen, and Phoenix nearly stumbles over his own feet - but he doesn't take it back, instead continuing to close the distance between them.  "Miles, I..."

          Before he can think better of it, he reaches forward, curling his fingers into the lapels of Edgeworth's jacket and sparing half a second to look into those gray eyes of his - and then he pulls him in for a kiss.

          It's wrong, it's right, it's neither, it's both.  His brain is screaming at him - what are you doing, you haven't even talked, don't you remember what happened the last time you kissed - but Phoenix can't make himself pull away, and in any case, it becomes impossible to do so when he feels Edgeworth wrapping his arms around him, kissing him back.  Phoenix is helpless in the face of this, a soft sound passing through his lips as he lets go of Edgeworth's clothes so that he can run his hands through his hair instead.  And he can tell Edgeworth is doing the same, long fingers combing through his spikes, and he feels so warm and alive and here.

          Eventually, they have to breathe, and Phoenix pants softly as he draws back, trying to comprehend what exactly just happened.  He shouldn't have done that, he thinks, but he also can't imagine not having done that.

          "Phoenix," Edgeworth breathes.

          "Miles," Phoenix replies.

          For several moments, they do nothing but look at each other as they catch their breaths.  Phoenix knows he should say something, but his mind is blank, and no words form on his lips.  Thankfully, Edgeworth breaks the silence, his voice fragile, tentative: "What was that for?"

          It's not an easy question to answer.  How can Phoenix possibly sum up the depth of feeling Edgeworth invokes in him?  Not all of it is good - and much of that is a weight Phoenix is still carrying with him - but there's more to it than that.  They'd shared so much before Edgeworth had disappeared.  And even in the midst of the Engarde trial, when Phoenix was so, so angry, it was impossible to deny the way they'd worked together in the courtroom, the push and pull between them as they marched steadfastly toward the truth.  And now, a year after that, Phoenix is less angry, and Edgeworth - Edgeworth is finally back in his life, after dropping everything to come see him, after risking disbarment to defend Iris in his stead.  The thought of him being anywhere else seems unbearable.

          Maybe that's as good an answer as any for the time being, he figures, and so he tries a smile, letting his hands slide down to rest against Edgeworth's shoulders.  "I want you back in my life," he says, "and I guess that was how I wanted to express it."

          "Romantically," Edgeworth clarifies.

          "Apparently."  Embarrassingly, Phoenix can feel his cheeks heat up.  "Look, I didn't exactly plan this; it just happened.  I don't know how to describe it coherently."

          "I'm not judging, Phoenix."  But despite his words, Edgeworth falls silent, brows furrowing, and Phoenix doesn't know how to respond to the pensive expression on his face.  After a moment, though, he continues, "I just... always thought you would be the type of person to pursue your soulmate."

          Phoenix's heart nearly stops beating.

          "What," he says very carefully, "do you mean."

          Edgeworth pulls back at this, right hand gripping at his forearm as he glances off to the side, and the motion makes a knot of dread start to form in the pit of Phoenix's stomach.  "You don't know, then," Edgeworth says tightly.  "Who your soulmate is.  Or at the very least, who they aren't.  Do you?"

          There's nothing Phoenix can come up with as a reply, not in the wake of what Edgeworth is implying.  Instead, he just stares at him, frozen in place as he wonders just what is going to come out of his mouth next.  There's really only one place this conversation can lead, but - but...

          When it becomes clear that Phoenix isn't going to answer, Edgeworth sighs, eyes briefly squeezing shut.  "I know what my words are, Phoenix," he says, voice softer than ever.  "And we both know what you said to me during and after the Engarde trial.  If you were my soulmate, something from then would surely be my mark, would it not?  But it isn't.  My words are not so harsh as any of that.  Ergo, it's not you."  His gaze flickers back to Phoenix, then away again, like he can't bear to look at him for too long.  Why?  Is it guilt?  Shame?  Pity?

          "The realization was - shocking, I admit," he continues heavily after a moment.  "And coming to terms with that was..."  He trails off, shaking his head.  "It doesn't matter.  The only thing that does matter is that these are the facts.  And mismatches are astonishingly rare, so I can't be yours in return.  It's simple logic."

          As much as Phoenix doesn't want to admit it, Edgeworth is right.  He's exactly right.  That "simple logic", as he put it, is precisely what Phoenix had used to conclude that they were mutual soulmates.  But apparently he'd made some faulty assumptions, and now - oh, god, his soulbond isn't reciprocated -

          "So what are you trying to say?" Phoenix forces himself to ask before the silence stretches too long between them.  "That I shouldn't have kissed you?"

          "No!" Edgeworth replies with surprising vehemence, and this time he meets Phoenix's eyes in full as he reaches out again, grabbing his arms.  There's no way Edgeworth can possibly know this, but one of them is right over Phoenix's own soulmark - his concealed, one-sided soulmark.  It's all Phoenix can do to keep from trembling.  "I'd thought that you wouldn't wish to - waste your time, as it were, with someone you knew wasn't your soulmate, and felt an obligation to let you know the truth before we proceeded any further.  Was I wrong?"

          Phoenix blinks at this, realization slowly filtering through the horror of Edgeworth's reveal.  Is he understanding correctly?  After he'd come to such a flawed conclusion, he's hesitant to trust his own judgment, but it's starting to feel like Edgeworth may not care that they're not soulmates.  He'd kissed back, hadn't he?  Can happiness with him still be possible?

          Is this something he should even pursue?

          "I swore to myself when I was twenty-one that I wouldn't be with my soulmate," Phoenix finally says, and he tells himself that he isn't digging his own grave as the words leave his lips.  He smiles then, feigning a confidence that he doesn't feel, and continues, "And you're conveniently not my soulmate.  Funny how things work out, isn't it?"

          It's half a truth surrounded mostly by lies.  He had told himself that once, a long time ago, and it was precisely the reason he had gotten so caught up with Dollie.  What had come next, of course, bordered on the comical: despite all his reservations and fears, he'd fallen for Edgeworth anyway, and even now, burdened with the knowledge that Edgeworth hasn't even granted him the kindness of being his mutual soulmate, he can't comprehend the idea of being with anyone else.

          Maybe it's pathetic.  Maybe there's no way for this to end but even more heartbreak.  But Edgeworth is here, offering Phoenix something he's been yearning for since he fell in love with him two years ago, and Phoenix can't turn him away.  Not again.

          "Funny indeed," Edgeworth muses, glancing off to the side - and then he looks back at him, and to Phoenix's surprise, he smiles back.  "So we think the same way, then.  The soulmark is meaningless.  Standing here before you now is a choice I'm making, and..."

          "And standing here is a choice I'm making," Phoenix finishes.

          Because it is.  Edgeworth had touched his life long before his soulmark had appeared, and Phoenix knows deep in his bones that he would have done the things he did for him in any universe.  And if he's deciding to move forward with this, to see if they can be together despite the fact that his bond is unrequited - that's a choice too, isn't it?

          "You have no idea how much I'll have to upend my life to stay here," Edgeworth says, but he's still smiling - and then they're kissing again, and Phoenix lets himself be carried away by the swell of Edgeworth's affection, telling himself that this is real, this is real.

*

For a while, they're happy.

          It's astonishing how quickly they fall back into their old patterns, the ones they'd established during that period of time between Edgeworth's trial and Edgeworth... leaving.  Sure, there's more physical contact involved, and they're called "dates" instead of "hangouts", but otherwise they're strikingly similar.  Phoenix wonders belatedly if maybe everything was a date this entire time.

          Edgeworth, for his part, is surprisingly affectionate.  Two weeks in, he lays his hand on the central console as they drive to some Steel Samurai in Concert event, and Phoenix looks down at it, feeling like there's something obvious he should be doing in response while simultaneously questioning whether he's drastically misreading the situation.  "Do you want me to hold your hand?" he ventures after a moment.

          Edgeworth spares a glance at him before shrugging.  "Do you want to?" he replies.

          It's not actually much of an answer, but Phoenix can still recognize it as the invitation that it is, and he's more than willing to meet him halfway.  So he takes his hand and squeezes it, and the way Edgeworth actually colors in response even as he turns his own hand around so they can entwine their fingers makes Phoenix's heart want to melt.

          A week after that, Edgeworth kisses him in public, and sometime after that, he casually holds a spoonful of bingsu up to Phoenix's lips as they're sitting in a Korean dessert place like it's the most natural thing in the world to do.  Phoenix leans forward and accepts the offering, meeting Edgeworth's eyes and - and -

          And wishing he was actually capable of giving Edgeworth everything he wants in return.

          See, there's just one problem with all of this: his nightmares have come back.

          He knows why, of course, and he hates that he does.  Having Edgeworth means he can lose Edgeworth, and losing Edgeworth is apparently a fear he'll never get over, not when he knows firsthand how terrible it is.  To some extent, he suspects that Edgeworth's behavior is his way of compensating for having hurt Phoenix, but Phoenix is afraid to bring it up - both because it's such a fraught topic, and also if he starts dwelling on it again, his mind will go to some dark places.  He remembers with painful clarity that at his worst, he'd punched Edgeworth and told him he should have stayed dead.  Better to not think about it at all.  Sure, the nightmares cause him to dread every time they part, to find excuses to retreat back to his apartment alone after every date - but there's really no choice but to just live with it, or so he tells himself.

          (And even if he was willing to risk Edgeworth catching him having a nightmare, he can't - he can't sleep with him again.  Not at this point, not after what had happened right after the first and only time they did.  Some things, he thinks, still haven't been fixed by the passage of time.)

          So they go on dates and hold hands and kiss as Phoenix whispers Miles into Edgeworth's ear - and at night, when Phoenix is alone, he dreams: dreams of Edgeworth dying, of Edgeworth disappearing, of Edgeworth slipping away, away, away.  And when he wakes up shivering, grabbing at his phone and checking his messages to remind himself that it's not true, that Edgeworth is still here and just a text or a call away, he still can't help but think the same thing over and over:

          As much as Edgeworth talks about choice, about how he doesn't care about the soulmark, about how he's here with Phoenix because he wants to be here with him - Phoenix can't really know for sure that the other shoe isn't going to drop eventually.  Not after everything that's happened; not when he himself knows far too well about how he ultimately couldn't resist falling for his own soulmate.  Someday, Edgeworth will meet his, and then he'll leave.

          Edgeworth's left him before, after all.

*

"It's a fad," Edgeworth insists.

          "Tex-Mex is fusion, too," Phoenix replies.  "You really gonna say that's a fad?"

          "There may be exceptions," Edgeworth admits, "but this is a fad."

          Phoenix watches him pick up another bulgogi kimchi french fry with a pair of chopsticks and daintily put it into his mouth.  He certainly seems content enough to eat it, fad or not, considering he's gone through more than half the box.  Granted, this may not be entirely on Edgeworth - Phoenix would normally be more than happy to consume whatever random fusion comes out of a food truck, and he'd been looking forward to their date at the 626 Night Market all week.  Edgeworth, he'd learned, can talk about things like croque-en-bouches and the supposedly "correct" way to prepare a Beijing duck wrap at length, but street foods are a massive blind spot for him, one that Phoenix has been eager to help correct.  Today, though, he has no appetite.  "Well, you apparently think fads are delicious, so I don't really think there's a problem."

          "There are impacts on the culinary world at large," Edgeworth says, and Phoenix can't help his fond eye roll, despite his current state of mind.  "Indulging in this is a distraction when there are other new ideas to explore."

          He holds a fry up to Phoenix's lips; Phoenix accepts it despite his lack of hunger.  "Don't worry, Miles.  I think the culinary world will be okay."

          "Let's hope so," Edgeworth replies with a titter.  He frowns down at the remaining fries, looking contemplative for a moment, then continues, "You haven't eaten much."

          Ah.  It's time to talk about the thing he's been dreading, it seems.  In an attempt to stave it off, Phoenix raises an eyebrow and picks up a fry of his own.  "Where's your evidence?"

          "Don't start with that."  Edgeworth sighs and puts his chopsticks down, peering at him.  "This is because I'm flying out tomorrow, isn't it?"

          Yes, Phoenix thinks, but also: no.

          So here's the thing: this morning, Phoenix was found to have presented forged evidence in the trial of Zak Gramarye, and in fourteen hours, Edgeworth will be on a plane to Europe for a month-long business trip.

          It's a minor miracle that he's apparently heard nothing about today's events, but Phoenix supposes everything's been kept rather hush-hush.  Phoenix isn't even sure if Edgeworth knew he had a trial today in the first place, given the last-minute lawyer switch, and it's not something he plans on bringing up.  He can, of course.  He can tell Edgeworth the whole sordid truth, about how he became someone's lawyer last night because he won a game of poker, about how he accepted evidence from a literal child, about how he then presented said evidence in a court of law because he's a fucking idiot, about how he consequently has a hearing with the bar association review board scheduled for next Tuesday, at which point he'll - he'll...

          He's not going to think about it.  Not right now.  The point is, he can share this with Edgeworth, and then - what?  Either Edgeworth will cancel his trip, or he won't.  But he's already had to go abroad for business reasons since they started dating - a fact that Phoenix has spent a lot of time telling himself he has no problems with - and if Phoenix hasn't tried to stop him before, how can he start now?  Worse, what if he asks him to stay, and Edgeworth says no?  It's true that once, Edgeworth had dropped everything to fly to him, when he thought Phoenix's life was in danger - but it's also true that once, Edgeworth had asked Phoenix to have faith in him, and then he'd disappeared and given Phoenix nightmares that continue to this day.

          Better, then, to leave room for plausible deniability, to live in a world where Phoenix doesn't have to know with certainty that Edgeworth will leave regardless.  Better to share nothing.  Maybe, he thinks, everything will somehow work out, and Edgeworth will never have to learn about what happened this morning.

          So he forces a smile, reaching over to take Edgeworth's hand.  "I'll miss you," he says, and this, at least, is true.  He loves - he loves parts of Edgeworth, even if he's never said the words out loud.  Phoenix loves his desire to uncover the truth, his wit and intelligence, even his bizarre obsession with children's television shows.  He just... can't make himself believe that Edgeworth won't disappear on him again someday, is all.

          "I'll miss you as well," Edgeworth replies gently.  "But it's only a month, and then I'll come back.  I promise you I will."

          "Yeah," Phoenix says.

          But what Phoenix needs today is not a reassurance that he'll come back.  What he needs is a reassurance that he'll stay, because Phoenix needs him now - but that isn't something he can ever trust Edgeworth to give him.

          So he says nothing more, and for this one last night, he'll let them both pretend that everything is fine.

*

Edgeworth is gone when they take away his badge.  He's gone when Phoenix makes the choice to adopt Trucy.  He's gone when Kristoph Gavin shows up in his office for the first time, apologizing for the actions of his brother, and offers to be a friend.

          He's gone, and Phoenix realizes something funny: he's managing on his own.

          Not well, of course.  His life is a mess, he's falling apart, and Gavin is definitely shady as hell and has some sort of ulterior motive.  But there are some small wins.  The investigation he conducts in the aftermath of the trial doesn't turn up all the answers he'd been hoping for, but it's something.  He somehow manages to keep food on the table for Trucy and sort out all the paperwork needed to make sure both her adoption and her school transfer go smoothly.  And when he successfully figures out where her new bus stop is, he feels like crying in relief.  He's a failure, but not in this.

          And as for Edgeworth - well.

          It's admittedly not entirely Edgeworth's fault that he isn't present as Phoenix's life gets turned upside down.  He is, in fact, actually present to some extent, because they talk every day on the phone: Edgeworth always calls, and Phoenix always picks up.  It'd been the same with his other trips abroad in those scant few months between Iris' trial and now, which Phoenix understands is Edgeworth's way of being proactive, of reassuring Phoenix that while he may be physically away, he's still here.  The reassurance had worked before - maybe just barely, but it'd worked.  Now, though...

          The first call they'd had after his disbarment, the shame and grief Phoenix had felt upon having his badge stripped from him had been overwhelming: when he'd opened his mouth to tell Edgeworth about what had happened, his throat had closed up, and nothing had come out.  Ultimately, he'd brushed everything off instead - "Oh, just another quiet day at the office" - and once he'd said that, it'd become easier to just keep on saying that, over and over again until the hole he'd dug felt too deep to pull himself out of.  Why talk about the hearing with the bar association review board, when Edgeworth can't possibly do anything to change the results?  Why talk about drinking hot chocolate with Trucy when they both wake up from nightmares, when Edgeworth is the one who's giving him nightmares in the first place?  Why talk about Gavin's silky-smooth comments about how Phoenix is all alone right now, when Edgeworth could, for all Phoenix knows, meet his soulmate while he's in Europe and disappear again, this time for good?

          Besides, he'd think, what exactly does he actually expect Edgeworth to do - drop everything and fly back?  And even if he does, what comes next?  It's not as though he'll be able to stay.

          So he learns how to cope and how to live and how to survive in a world with only him and his new daughter, and he tells himself that not only is this the way things are now, but that maybe this is the way things should be.

*

"Why," Edgeworth whispers, "did you not tell me about any of this?"

          At long last, the truth is out.  They're standing in his office - though he supposes it's not really an office anymore, since he doesn't have a job - and Edgeworth is looking at the evidence of Phoenix's new life scattered all around him, face pale, fists clenched.

          Phoenix shrugs, feeling tired.  He's feeling tired a lot these days.  "I was busy," he says, because that's certainly true.  It turns out that raising a child takes up a lot of time and energy, not to mention having to deal with a suspiciously-friendly defense attorney who just happens to be the brother of the prosecutor who saw you present fake evidence.  "And you were busy."

          "Not too busy for you," Edgeworth manages.  "We talked every day - you could have said something at any time - I would have come back - "

          "And then what?"

          Edgeworth blinks at the interruption.  "What do you mean, 'and then what'?  I would have helped.  Of course I would have helped."

          It's funny how genuine he seems, like he actually believes what he's saying.  That he thinks he would have come back and helped Phoenix the way he needed to be helped - by being here for him, by supporting him, by staying here with him.

          But if that were true, then Phoenix wouldn't be having so many nightmares to the contrary, now would he?

          "And yet," Phoenix says, "you didn't."

          Edgeworth stares at him, lips parted slightly.  "You're upset with me," he replies finally, and Phoenix bites back his instinctive retort of no shit, Sherlock.  He remains quiet instead, and after a few moments of awkward silence, Edgeworth hesitantly continues, "I... am sorry I wasn't here when this happened.  But I'm here now, Phoenix.  We can work through this together."

          The words might have been enough for him, once.  A small part of him even manages to appreciate the fact that Edgeworth isn't making excuses, even though he definitely could.  Phoenix is rationally aware that he withheld - well, everything from Edgeworth - but he's not in the mood for rationality right now.  Not after everything that's happened.  Not after his loss and his nightmares.

          No, what he's in the mood for is to do something - anything - to relieve some of the burden he's carrying.

          "We can't," Phoenix says, and he's a little surprised at how much pleasure he gets out of hearing Edgeworth's breath hitch slightly in response.  Good, he thinks, because it's about time Edgeworth feels a fraction of what Phoenix has been feeling this entire time.  "You know why?  'Cause we're done."

          "Done," Edgeworth repeats slowly, brow furrowed like he can't comprehend what has just come out of Phoenix's mouth.  Maybe he can't, since his next words are clearly him in denial: "Phoenix, you're behaving rashly.  I've only just returned, and there's no reason to do anything drastic - "

          "You," Phoenix snaps, "are the last fucking person who should be lecturing anyone on being drastic."

          Edgeworth winces, but he otherwise doesn't move, instead continuing, "Regardless, I can help you.  I will help you, with both your badge and with Trucy - "

          Phoenix can't stop the outright laugh that bubbles past his lips at this.  "With Trucy," he mimics.  "She's a child.  A second-grade student.  Maybe you can dip and fly off to Europe whenever you want when it's only me in your life, but you can't do that same thing to her.  She's just lost one parental figure, and I'm not going to put her in a position to lose another - "

          "You won't be, because I'll stay - "

          "Stay?" Phoenix spits out.  "You, of all people, will stay?  And why should I believe that, Edgeworth?  Why should I have faith in anything you say?"

          The use of his last name has exactly the intended effect: Edgeworth inhales sharply, pose shifting, eyes going wide.  Instead of the confidence he'd been projecting just a moment ago, he now suddenly looks so vulnerable, fingers gone white with pressure as he grips at himself.

          I did this, Phoenix thinks, and he doesn't feel sorry at all.

          The seconds tick by in silence, and the whole time, Edgeworth stands there staring at him, still clutching his forearm, while Phoenix stares back, daring him to come up with a retort.  Finally, though, Edgeworth replies: "I understand," he says, and he loosens his grip, standing upright again.  "Then I will take my leave."

          He goes to open the door.  He steps through.  He closes it.

          He never looks back.

Chapter Text

"I hear," Gavin says casually as he swirls his glass, "that Miles Edgeworth is practicing in Germany full-time now."

          Phoenix takes a swig directly from the bottle, in part because he knows how much it offends Gavin, and in part because he doesn't want to deal with another glass.  "Cool.  Why are you bringing it up?"

          Gavin raises an eyebrow at him.  "You two are close, aren't you?"

          At this, Phoenix feels his right hand twitch, and he knows what he wants to do: he wants to touch his soulmark, the embodiment of why the man he can't get his mind off of even now is also the man he can never be with.  What, he wonders, would have become of them if his words had been anything else?

          The movement catches Gavin's eye, though, and so Phoenix goes still.  He may not want to see Edgeworth ever again, but that doesn't mean he wants Gavin to know anything about his soulmark.  Instead, he shrugs.  "Obviously not that close.  What you just told me is the first I'm hearing of it."

          This is true, even, and if he were alone right now, he suspects that he probably would have broken into hysterical laughter.  Of course Edgeworth ran back to Europe; that's what he always does.  Hell, the only reason Edgeworth had even stayed after Iris' trial in the first place was because Phoenix had kissed him - which, in retrospect, had been a pretty bad decision on his end.  Sure, he would have lost his badge either way, but he can't help but feel like things wouldn't have been so emotionally turbulent if he hadn't had to deal with Edgeworth, too.

          But hey - that's why Phoenix broke up with him, right?

          "And it doesn't interest you at all?"

          Phoenix grins, shark-like.  "What, are you jealous or something?"

          "Of course not - "

          "Then let's move on," Phoenix interrupts.  "Hell, let's toast to it.  To moving on."

          Gavin doesn't indulge him, but Phoenix doesn't care.  He clinks his bottle against Gavin's glass and drains the rest of it in one shot, setting it down on the table afterward a little bit harder than necessary.

          To moving on, he thinks, as though he could ever move on from Miles Edgeworth.

*

"When you said you'd take me drinking on my twenty-first birthday, I wasn't expecting this," Maya sighs as she fills her glass up with more moscato.  "I thought we'd have, like, a bartender shaking stuff and doing pours.  Or whatever it is that they do.  Cool bartender things, you know?"

          "Yeah, well, when I promised you that, I also had a real job and no children."  Phoenix tops off his own glass, but just with grape juice.  While Maya rightfully wants to get wasted right now, Phoenix figures he should at least attempt to be somewhat responsible and stay sober to keep an eye on her.  Besides, Trucy's sleeping in the next room over.  "You know how much a single cocktail would cost at a bar?"

          Maya giggles, and Phoenix wonders how much of it is the alcohol and how much of it is her clowning on him.  "Like you know anything about drinking in fancy bars."

          "You'd be surprised," Phoenix replies, and his mind, as always, drifts to Edgeworth.  It's funny how things have changed in the two years since Edgeworth has exited his life: in those days, it felt like they'd be hitting up a new trendy spot every week, with Edgeworth making comments about all the different flavors in their food and drinks as Phoenix had nodded along, pretending he'd had any thoughts beyond "it was tasty".  Now it's him and Maya sitting in his little apartment, going through a ten-dollar bottle of moscato and three boxes of store-brand cookies that he'd picked up from Target.  And while it's not like he misses going to trendy places, he misses... something about all that, for sure.

          (And what exactly is it that he's missing about going to trendy places with Edgeworth, if not the trendy places?  He has no idea.  No idea at all.)

          Something in his tone catches Maya's attention, because even though she's definitely feeling the wine by now, she straightens at this, expression shifting.  "Nick," she whispers, and her voice is tremulous, a stark contrast to what she'd sounded like just a moment ago.  "How did you bear it?  Knowing it was coming?"

          Despite the vagueness of her words, Phoenix has a sneaking suspicion that he knows what she's asking.  There's very much a reason that Maya is drinking today, after all, and it's not because they're celebrating.  The topic was bound to come up sooner or later tonight.  "You don't," he says quietly, accepting that they're going to talk about this, and his gaze goes distant as he thinks about Edgeworth yet again.  "You just live in denial and delude yourself into thinking you can stop it from happening."

          Maya slumps and reaches up to touch her chest, just beneath her right collarbone.  Beneath her clothes lies her freshly-minted soulmark, but she's refused to tell him what it actually says, and he doubts she ever will.  Whatever it is, though, has led her to polishing off half a bottle of wine on her own.  "And then afterward?"

          Phoenix shrugs.  "You figure out whether you can actually forgive them," he says.  "And I think you know how it went for me."

          "I see," Maya murmurs.  Her hand drops and curls around her glass again; Phoenix nudges some water in her direction.  "I guess I finally get it.  Why people dread their marks.  Why they drink when it comes in.  It's not very romantic at all, is it?"

          "Nope."

          "Mm."  To Phoenix's relief, Maya picks up the water instead of the wine and has a sip of that.  "But maybe," she continues slowly, "you gotta persevere."

          Phoenix raises an eyebrow.  "And what do you mean by that?"

          "Duh, Nick."  Maya touches her soulmark again, and something in her gaze sharpens momentarily.  "What the hell's the point of all this if we just roll over and give up?  Yeah, the soulmark's a billboard for what'll probably be a really shitty moment in my life, but - it'll be shitty because the person responsible is important to me.  That's the case for you, isn't it?  And this important person - aren't they worth persevering for?"

          "Maybe in your case," Phoenix says.

          "Maybe in yours, too," Maya replies pointedly.

          Not for the first time, Phoenix wishes that his past self hadn't told Maya who his soulmate was.  "In case you've forgotten, Edgeworth's moved back to Europe and hasn't contacted me in two years.  It's probably safe to assume we're done."

          Maya takes another sip of water, peering at him over the edge of her glass.  "I think," she says, "that you underestimate just how much Edgeworth cares for you."

          Phoenix laughs, but mostly because he needs to suppress the assortment of responses that threaten to spill past his lips otherwise.  The obvious retort, of course, is that his soulbond is one-sided.  Even if he wanted to persevere, it doesn't matter, because ultimately Edgeworth's soulmate - the person who is most important to him - is someone else.  But while Maya knows that Edgeworth is his soulmate, she doesn't know that he isn't Edgeworth's, and that's not knowledge he's ever going to share.

          The other retort is almost as obvious: that he's the one who broke up with Edgeworth those two years ago, so actually, he's pretty sure that Edgeworth doesn't care for him anymore, given that Phoenix was kind of an ass about it.  Edgeworth has never tried to reach out to him again, and with good reason.  And yet - while Phoenix doesn't exactly regret the breakup, he is beginning to regret how roughly he pushed Edgeworth away.  Slowly, slowly, he finds himself reconsidering his old stance of I never want to see him again.  It's hard, he thinks, to try and forget a person who has shaped his life in so many ways.

          And so the reply he has to fight the most against speaking out loud, the one he doesn't want to acknowledge even to himself, is this:

          Don't give me hope.

*

Time passes, and that little flutter of hope Maya had granted Phoenix that night on her birthday fades away into nothingness.  Quietly, unobtrusively, Phoenix lives his life, and somewhere across the Atlantic, Edgeworth lives his.

          Until one day, three years after they break up, Edgeworth reappears.

          It happens by chance.  Phoenix is once more making one of his usual visits to 99 Ranch - being disbarred hasn't changed his instant ramen habits (if anything, it might have amplified it) - but of course Trucy's in his life now, too, and she likes those aloe drinks and lychee jelly cups that he can't find at other stores.  So here he is, strolling over to the snack aisle with his basket of extremely unhealthy goods, when an unforgettable shade of burgundy catches his eye.  He freezes mid-step, wondering if he's really seeing what he thinks he is, and -

          Yeah.  That's him.  That's Miles Edgeworth.  The man Phoenix loved.  The man Phoenix hated.  The man Phoenix had thought he'd finally sent away for good, never to see again, except - he's back, apparently, here in the flesh, and Phoenix can't look away.

          Edgeworth is just standing there in the aisle about ten feet away from him, frowning down at a box of tea he's holding in one hand.  It's obvious he hasn't noticed Phoenix staring yet, and Phoenix realizes he has at most a few more seconds to decide how this will go.  The smart thing to do would be to just keep walking and forget this ever happened - after all, he hasn't had an Edgeworth-related nightmare in years, and discounting Gavin, life with Trucy is stable (emotionally, if not financially) in a way things never were when Edgeworth was around.

          The stupid thing to do, of course, would be to continue to stand right here, gazing at Edgeworth like the sight of him is the most riveting thing Phoenix has ever seen, until he's inevitably noticed and they're forced to interact.

          He's never been very smart where Edgeworth is involved.

          It takes about half a minute, but eventually Edgeworth does glance his way, his brows slightly furrowed in confusion.  "Can I help you - " he begins, and Phoenix watches as recognition dawns on his face; the box of tea tumbles from his hand and lands at his feet, and he makes no move to pick it up.  "Phoenix...?" he whispers.

          It's actually a more positive response than Phoenix had expected, considering how they'd ended things, and he wonders if there's something to Maya's claim that Edgeworth cares for him more than he thinks.  Maybe - maybe pursuing this isn't the wrong choice.  His path decided, Phoenix steps closer: "Long time, no see," he replies, and he pretends that he's not equally affected, like he's not hyper-aware of the fact that half a decade back and a few aisles over, this was where he'd acknowledged to himself that he'd fallen in love with this man.

          That was the distant past, after all.

          Edgeworth is now the one staring at him, his gaze darting from the beanie to the stubble to the sandals, and Phoenix can only imagine what's going on in his head right now.  Maybe it's better if he leads this conversation, because he's not entirely sure what will happen if Edgeworth is the one who speaks next.  (Maybe it's better, his brain tells him, if he leaves this conversation, but he ignores it.)  "I didn't realize you were back in the States."

          "I've been in and out," Edgeworth replies, and there's the slightest hint of a tremor in his voice that Phoenix knows is not from the topic at hand.  "And you?  By which I mean to say, er - how have you and your daughter been doing?"

          "Oh, just the usual," Phoenix answers automatically, despite the fact that there's obviously no way Edgeworth knows what the usual entails these days, but it's easier than actually going into detail about his life.

          "Good.  I'm glad.  Ah, that is, if that's a good thing."

          The awkwardness is palpable.  Admittedly, though, Phoenix really only has himself to blame - how exactly did he expect this conversation to go?  It's been three years, and their last interaction had involved Phoenix yelling and Edgeworth leaving.  But also - it's been three years.  Looking at Edgeworth now, Phoenix is reminded once more of his mental state back then as everything had fallen apart around him - trying to juggle raising a new daughter, playing mind games with the man who'd gotten him disbarred, and lying to himself about how okay he really was with his soulmate.  The conclusion he'd come to then was that something had to give, and that something had ended up being Edgeworth.  But the raw pain of that period in which he'd lost his badge is gone now, washed away by time and distance, and all that's left is just a faint ache that Phoenix can accept as part of himself without feeling crippled by it.

          And, he has to admit, their issues aren't entirely one-sided.  Edgeworth hurt him, yes, but he's hurt Edgeworth too.  For all he knows, Edgeworth is looking at him and thinking about how he's staring at the man who had hidden the truth about his disbarment and his daughter for an entire month.  The man who had broken up with him without giving him a second chance.  The man who had once, in a fit of anger, told him he should have stayed dead.

          So here they are: two men who've hurt each other and maybe hurt themselves in the process.  Life would be simpler, probably, if they stayed apart.  And it's not too late - one of them could still walk away right now, but -

          But maybe, he remembers Maya murmuring over a glass of water, you gotta persevere.

          "I'm sorry," Phoenix says, and in that moment, he resolves to himself to do better.  "That was a shit answer on my part, and we both know it.  But look, I can either tell you about what's been going on with me, which is going to involve a lot of monologuing about my kid, or I can tease you about the fact that you're wearing glasses, and honestly, I want to do the latter right now."  He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow.  "So.  You got glasses."

          Edgeworth lets out a startled laugh, but Phoenix can see his shoulders incrementally relax.  "And you got a hat," he replies.

          Phoenix grins as he reaches up to touch it.  "Yeah, Trucy made it," he says.  "She got into crochet recently, and it turns out acrylic isn't just the cheapest yarn; it's also machine-washable, so, uh.  You know.  It all worked out."

          "Who would have imagined Phoenix Wright knew anything about yarn," Edgeworth says, and he lifts one hand to his lips and clears his throat.

          It's that old tell again, the one Phoenix had first noticed so long ago and is apparently still attuned to even now, all these years later: Edgeworth clears his throat when he's trying not to smile.  Affection, deep and unbidden, surges within him upon seeing this, and for a blinding moment, the only thing he can think of is how much he's missed having this man in his life.  The old hurts are still there, as they always will be, but he finds himself abruptly, acutely aware that there were so many good things about their time together, too.

          "Edgeworth," he says suddenly, before he can have a chance to reconsider.  "I'd like to be friends again."

          He'd said those exact words once, many years back, and he remembers all too well how that friendship had ended the first time around.  He remembers, too, the nightmares he'd had, and he knows that if he lets this happen, if he accepts Edgeworth back into his life - if Edgeworth accepts Phoenix back into his life - those nightmares will return.  By letting Edgeworth in, Phoenix will fear that he'll leave again, because one way or another, Edgeworth always leaves.

          And yet - the words tumble from his lips, and he doesn't immediately regret them.  The jury is out as to whether time heals all wounds, but it's healed enough of them by now that he's actually sure he's not making a mistake.  Even if Edgeworth does leave again, even if he isn't Edgeworth's soulmate the way Edgeworth is his, isn't it worth still having him in his life for however long he can?  Isn't it worth it to persevere?

          Besides, things are different these days.  Phoenix is older and, in theory, wiser.  He realizes now that their attempt at dating after Iris' trial was unfair to them both, because he was - and still is, probably - harboring some difficult feelings about Edgeworth where a romantic relationship is concerned, feelings he's never really taken the time to work through.  They'd been doomed from the beginning, and he shoulders some of that blame.  But if he just goes into this expecting only friendship, eyes wide open about his one-sided soulbond, then maybe, just maybe, they'll be okay.

          "Phoenix," Edgeworth replies quietly, and his voice is pained.  "You shouldn't feel any obligation to offer that just because we happened to meet here today - "

          "It's not obligation," Phoenix interrupts.  "Look, I know I'm the one who called things off between us, and you have every reason to wonder if this is a good idea or not.  But I can tell you right now that - " he pauses to take in a deep breath, then makes himself continue - "I'm sorry.  About the shit way I behaved toward you back then.  We weren't working out, but the way I ended things between us wasn't right.  That's on me, and you deserved better.  But now it's been three years, and..."  Here he pauses again, searching for the right words to try and express the way seeing Edgeworth again has made him feel, and yet despite part of him thinking that he could fill a book with those thoughts, another part of him finds it impossible to actually articulate, and nothing that comes to mind feels quite right.

          Finally, he just shrugs.  "I guess I'm just - just standing here hoping you'll give me another shot at being in your life again," he says. "Friendship is all I'm asking for, Edgeworth.  Nothing more."

          He goes silent then, waiting for a response.  But all Edgeworth does in return is stare at him, gaze searching, and Phoenix wonders what he's looking for and whether he's going to find it.  Then Edgeworth takes a step forward, his foot hitting the fallen tea from earlier -

          The sound of the box sliding across the floor breaks them out of their reverie, and they both jump back a bit, glancing down at the tea now sitting right in front of Phoenix's own feet.  Automatically, he finds himself getting down on one knee to pick it up - but Edgeworth apparently has the same idea, and they reach the box at the same time.  In that moment, skin brushes against skin, and Edgeworth inhales so sharply that for a wild moment, Phoenix wonders if he's somehow screwed everything up already - but despite his reaction, he doesn't pull back, his hand remaining resting over Phoenix's own.

          It's been so many years since they were this close to one another, but the contact still somehow feels so familiar, so comforting, that Phoenix is surprised at how natural this all seems.  And maybe Edgeworth is thinking the same thing, because for a moment, they stay there motionless, hands touching, until - "I think this is yours," Phoenix makes himself say when words come to him again, and here he takes Edgeworth's hand and picks up the box so that he can place it against the flat of Edgeworth's palm.  And though he tries to suppress it, a stupid, fond smile works its way onto his face, because some things never change.  "Since this Pink Princess passionfruit tea definitely isn't mine."

          It's his olive branch, the retreading of old, well-worn territory from happier times.  And as they remain kneeling there in the tea aisle, Edgeworth continuing to allow his hand to be encased in Phoenix's own even when he could have long since pulled away, Phoenix knows it's been accepted.

          "Well, then."  Edgeworth stares down at their hands, color high on his cheeks, and then he glances back up to meet Phoenix's eyes.  "I suppose in that case, regarding your offer - yes," he says, and he clears his throat again.  "I'd like that."

*

*

"I'll help," Edgeworth says as he pauses to look out over the lake, hands in his pockets.  "Of course I'll help."

          Phoenix, wanting to match him, goes still as well.  "Wait," he says, because he'd be lying if he'd claimed if a part of him hadn't been hoping to hear those words, but at the same time, he doesn't think he deserves it.  "Edgeworth, I didn't tell you all this to make you feel like you needed to do something.  I just thought that I owed it to you to let you know what was happening - "

          Edgeworth tsks, cutting Phoenix off, and shakes his head.  "You've been wronged, Phoenix," he replies briskly.  "If there's any sort of obligation here, it's between myself and the need to uncover the truth.  So I will repeat myself: I will help."

          It had taken two weeks, but today they're at Gourd Lake, their schedules having aligned enough to actually meet up - not that Phoenix has much of a schedule besides making sure he's there for Trucy and occasionally blowing off Gavin, but it still counts.  In any case, she's up in Kurain Village for the weekend, and so when Edgeworth had proposed a walk at Gourd Lake, Phoenix had accepted.  You don't have any problems with Gourd Lake? he'd asked, and Edgeworth had shrugged and asked why he would.

          Maybe it makes sense.  For Edgeworth, Gourd Lake was the start of uncovering the truth about DL-6.  For Phoenix - well.  His nightmares have resurfaced again, as he knew they would, because having Edgeworth in his life is evidently always going to give him nightmares.  But what's he going to do, tell Edgeworth he's scared of this place?  Better to just push through and see what happens.

          So here they are, having spent the past couple of hours ambling around as Edgeworth had talked about his work and Phoenix had talked about the investigation into his disbarment, and Edgeworth had listened with such intensity that Phoenix had almost tripped over his own feet a few times under the weight of his gaze.  Still, he hadn't expected what had come next: even as he'd been wrapping up, his mind had already been racing, trying to figure out how he would segue into a new topic, because what else was Edgeworth going to do besides nod and move on?  Instead, though, Edgeworth had stopped walking, and now he's offering the last thing Phoenix had expected: his assistance, and with it, his implicit belief in Phoenix's innocence.

          "Thank you," Phoenix replies at last, allowing himself to accept that this is happening, that Edgeworth has made his choice.  "It... it means a lot to me."  He stares down at his feet for a moment, then continues, "I'm - sorry again, by the way.  About how our breakup went.  It shouldn't have happened like that."

          Edgeworth sighs and starts walking again at this, motioning for Phoenix to follow along, which he does.  "Well, as you mentioned, 'we weren't working out'," he says, and Phoenix isn't sure whether or not he's imagining the tightness in Edgeworth's voice as he speaks.  "Perhaps it was foolish of us.  You'd told me I wasn't your soulmate, and I'd told you the same, and yet we still made the attempt.  Now we know where that has led us."

          "Yeah," Phoenix says, though mostly he's abruptly reminded of the fact that he'd lied to Edgeworth about his own soulbond that day they'd kissed again.  After everything else that had happened, he'd nearly forgotten about this.  But it's for the better, probably, that Edgeworth continues to think that neither has a bond with the other, and so he decides to not correct him.  "But..."

          He pauses then, considering.  In these past few hours, they've shared so much, more than they've shared in years.  If there's ever a time to take it a step further, to finally broach the topic that Phoenix had categorically refused to broach in the aftermath of Iris' trial, now would be it.  It'd be a natural extension of his apology, wouldn't it?  To give Edgeworth an explanation of why he'd been carrying so much resentment and fear in the first place, and to maybe, maybe receive an explanation in turn of what had happened the night Edgeworth had abandoned Phoenix.

          Do it, he tells himself.

          So he turns to Edgeworth, opening his mouth, and -

          He doesn't see Edgeworth then.  At least, not Edgeworth as he is right now, in glasses and whatever clothes he's wearing today.  No - what he sees instead is the Edgeworth from five years back as he wades into the lake, the pockets of his suit jacket weighed down with stones, so devastatingly illuminated in the moonlight -

          "Phoenix?" a voice cuts in.  "Are you alright?"

          Phoenix jolts, blinking hard as he finds himself taking in a great gulp of air, and suddenly it's the middle of the day again with Edgeworth standing right next to him, just like he has been this entire time, because - because he's fine, he's alive, and they're here taking a walk in a place that Edgeworth had never actually drowned himself in -

          "No, yeah, I'm good," he says, as though his knees aren't feeling weak, as though his stomach isn't churning.  "Sorry.  I just - sorry."

          Well, he thinks, that's a problem.

          Edgeworth gazes at him with that same intense expression he'd had earlier, and Phoenix wonders how it's possible that he's not seeing right through him.  "You're sure?" he presses.

          "Positive," Phoenix replies, and he makes himself smile.  "Hey, you know, I haven't told you all about Trucy yet.  I should fix that."

          At this, Edgeworth smiles back, and Phoenix can't help the little twinge of guilt he feels in response.  Edgeworth is trusting him, and Phoenix isn't returning that trust.  But this - this issue that he had just now - well, that's for Phoenix to solve on his own.  Yes, Edgeworth is the cause, but Phoenix at least has the awareness now to know not to blame him if he just - just physically can't talk about this.

          "Please do," Edgeworth says.

          Later, then, Phoenix tells himself as he starts talking about Trucy, allowing thoughts of her to carry him away.  He'll figure it out later.

*

Trucy meets Edgeworth for the first time over a bowl of wonton soup.

          Neither Phoenix nor Edgeworth say anything about it - Phoenix doesn't even know if Edgeworth remembers - but tonight almost feels like they've been given a chance to rewind and redo.  Once, many years ago, Edgeworth had invited Phoenix to his place for wontons, only for the Skye trial - and everything else associated with it - to happen, setting in motion a cycle of fracturing and repairing that never really resolved.  Tonight, though, feels like the start of something new, something different.  Tonight is them in a universe where they have finally been allowed to sit down around the dinner table in Edgeworth's rented loft, and though the past still weighs upon Phoenix heavily, he knows that at least that's all it is - the past, and not the future.  His trauma hasn't gone anywhere, but it's right behind him instead of right in front of him, and he's not afraid of the prospect of any new terrible truths lurking just around the corner.

          "Why didn't I meet you sooner, Mr. Edgeworth?" Trucy asks as she blows at a wonton.  "Daddy never mentioned you before, but he said you were an old friend."

          It was, Phoenix thinks wryly, probably a little too optimistic to expect a twelve-year-old child to show tact.  He'd primed her, of course - oh, we were childhood friends, and then Mr. Edgeworth moved to Europe for a while - but apparently that wasn't good enough, given that she's asking questions now.  Worse, he suspects that even as vague as his explanation had been, she'd probably picked up something of his body language with that uncanny ability of hers.

          But there's nothing for it now, he supposes: she's here, Edgeworth's here, and Phoenix can't stop her from doing her thing.

          "Er."  Edgeworth shoots Phoenix a sideways glance before looking back in her direction.  "I was spending most of my time in Europe, so I wasn't around before, but that has been changing as of late.  And though I do expect to still be frequently called to Europe, I'm glad we had an occasion to meet.  Your father has said many wonderful things about you."

          The redirection of the conversation apparently succeeds, because Trucy blushes and sticks her tongue out, face scrunching adorably.  "Teehee.  Well, I am the CEO of the Wright Talent Agency."  She slurps up a wonton, then continues, "Did you know we're always looking for new people to represent?  If you have any skills, or even if you don't, we'd be happy to sign you up!"

          As much as Phoenix loves Trucy, he can't help but want to avoid the awkwardness of her trying to rope prim, proper Edgeworth into the specifics of their weird little life.  "Oh, well," he begins, "Mr. Edgeworth did just say that he's probably gonna have to leave every now and then - "

          "No, it's fine," Edgeworth cuts in, surprising him.  "Your father certainly has a point about my international status complicating affairs, but you may list me as a backup talent, if you'd like."

          Trucy beams, and Phoenix can feel the tension he hadn't even realized he'd been carrying until just now practically melt away.  It's doing something to him, to see his daughter and his - his friend get along - to see Trucy reach out, and to see Edgeworth reaching back.  "Yay!" she chirps.  "And do you have any special skills?"

          Edgeworth hums, gesturing at the bowls on the table with his spoon.  "I did make all this.  Does cooking count as a skill your agency would like to promote?"

          "Hmm."  Trucy has another wonton, chewing it thoughtfully.  Her gaze darts toward Phoenix, but her expression is unreadable, and in the next second, she's looking away again.  "I'm impressed by this showing, but I think I'll need more examples.  A lot more examples."

          "I see," Edgeworth says, and now he's the one glancing over at Phoenix.  "Well, if your father doesn't object..."

          "Like I'm going to object to free food," Phoenix says with a grin.

          Edgeworth titters, but he looks amused.  "Then we'll arrange for more examples."

          "But aren't you going back to Europe soon?" Trucy asks.

          Once again, Edgeworth meets Phoenix's eyes, and Phoenix wonders if Edgeworth is worried about his reaction to the topic.  Three years ago, he would have been right to be.  In many ways, Europe is emblematic of the deep-seated issues Phoenix has - had? - with Edgeworth, a convenient representation of why things had fallen apart between them.  But, he realizes with a mild jolt of surprise, he really hadn't been lying to himself that day in the grocery store, when he'd thought about how maybe what really matters is just having Edgeworth in his life for however long he can, soulmate or not.  Finally, after all this time, he's turned around his thinking: he shouldn't be dwelling on when they're apart; he should be focusing on when they're together.

          And sure, maybe this is coming at a cost, one he's spent the better part of five years paying for in the form of jarring nightmares and emotional trauma.  The only reason he can afford to do this now is because he no longer expects Edgeworth to be his partner; he only expects him to be his friend.  Partner simply isn't a realistic expectation anymore, not after everything that's happened.

          But, he thinks, friend isn't such a bad thing to be, anyway.

          "Don't worry, Trucy," Phoenix says, and he looks at Edgeworth in return.  As surprisingly easy as it's been to start talking to Edgeworth on a regular basis again, well, he's still ultimately leaving, and no matter what Phoenix tells himself, that will remain difficult for him to handle.  But - "He'll go, but then he'll come back," he continues, and then he smiles.  "Right, Mr. Edgeworth?"

          Edgeworth's shoulders relax a little, and he smiles back.  "That's right," he says, and Phoenix believes him.

*

"You remember that pond behind Larry's place?"

          Edgeworth brushes his bangs back, seemingly to maximize the effect of arching an eyebrow in his direction.  "I swear, if you're going to bring up how Larry and I - "

          "No, no, none of that," Phoenix says quickly, unable to help but grin as he bends over to pick a rock off of the ground.  "We're not here to bring up embarrassing childhood memories.  We're here because I realized this is my chance to finally show you something I learned there."

          They're back at Gourd Lake again, because Edgeworth apparently finds it a nice place for a walk, and Phoenix still doesn't know how to push back without revealing that this is where some of his worst nightmares happen.  It's alright, though.  He has a plan this time: they're going to make new memories, better memories, here in this place where Edgeworth's ghost still haunts.  And with some luck, maybe, just maybe, he can allow it to finally, finally rest.

          "So?" he presses.

          Edgeworth sighs dramatically, eyeing the rock in Phoenix's hand.  "Very well, then," he says.  "Show me."

          "Okay, watch this."  Phoenix brings them closer to the shore, then pulls his hand back before flicking his wrist and sending the rock out into the lake, where it immediately sinks into the water.  "Nice," he says.

          "What exactly about that was nice?" Edgeworth asks dubiously.  "All you did was throw a rock - with, I might add, exceptionally poor form."

          "No, I skipped a stone."

          "So where was the skip?"

          "You missed it.  Here, pay attention."  Phoenix picks up a second rock, lobs it in the direction of the lake, and they again watch as it promptly sinks, just like last time.  "Now you try."

          Edgeworth rolls his eyes, but nonetheless picks up a stone of his own.  Though Phoenix's heart leaps terrifyingly in his chest as he remembers his nightmares, Edgeworth makes no move to pocket it, and the brief moment of fear passes.  "To be clear," he says, "what I'm going to do is throw a rock into the water, because that's what you've been doing.  None of this skipping-stone nonsense."

          "Whatever you say," Phoenix replies as Edgeworth tosses the rock, which obviously sinks because neither of them have actually been making any sort of genuine effort to emulate skipping-stone technique, and really, Phoenix is just teasing Edgeworth for fun.  (Like hell he knows anything about skipping stones: he'd tried to learn once to see if he could then teach Trucy, except then she'd just disappeared all the rocks he'd given her, and that was that.)  "Mm.  You didn't throw it as far as I did."

          "Your hoodie allows for a less limited range of motion than my attire, Phoenix."

          "Sounds like an excuse."

          "An excuse - " Edgeworth begins, but then he shakes his head, shrugging out of his jacket and shoving it at Phoenix, who accepts it.  Then, without any further prompting, he picks up yet another stone and hurls it as far as he can, a satisfying plop sounding as it hits the water far beyond either of Phoenix's attempts.  Triumphantly, he turns back, expression smug.  "What do you have to say to that?"

          He looks so content right now, despite the fact that if he were to take a moment to think about it, he'd remember that they're two grown men throwing rocks into a lake.  And yet - this is exactly what Phoenix wanted, wants, will want:

          I can still make him happy, he thinks dizzyingly, and he tries to ignore the rush of joy it gives him.

*

Eventually, they settle into something of a cycle revolving around Edgeworth's travel between here and Europe.  He's gone often, as Phoenix had known to expect, but when he's back in the States, they'll catch up over a walk, and then Phoenix will find out from Trucy what she wants Edgeworth to cook for them next time they have dinner at his loft.  Sometimes, Edgeworth even visits their home, and Trucy will show Edgeworth her latest magic tricks and ask for homework help.  (Phoenix consoles himself with the fact that at least she still comes to him first when it comes to putting together props and backdrops - "Mr. Edgeworth doesn't seem to be very good at art, does he," she admits to him at one point, and Phoenix just laughs and tells her that she doesn't know the half of it.)  Then Edgeworth leaves again, and everything repeats.

          "I'll be back in three weeks," Edgeworth tells Trucy as they crowd around the door of Phoenix's little apartment to see him off at the end of one such visit, and Phoenix takes the time to marvel at how well the two of them get along.  Sometimes, it feels like Trucy's actually the glue to this whole thing, that without her, easing back into friendship with Edgeworth would not have gone so smoothly.

          Maybe it's cheating, to some extent.  Trucy is always a safe topic of conversation, and so they're constantly talking about her and never about the difficult things that hover over their own past relationship.  After the flashback at Gourd Lake, Phoenix had made a few more attempts to approach the topic of Edgeworth's disappearance all those years ago, but each time, the thought of it had filled him with such dread and physical discomfort that he'd had to back down - and yet even with that hanging over him, somehow it's actually fine.  It's enough.  At long last, Phoenix can listen to Edgeworth bring up how he's flying back to Europe and not resent the thought - not resent Edgeworth.  Edgeworth has his life as an international prosecutor, and Phoenix has his as a father and poker player, and the fact that their lives even have a chance to intersect at all is something to be grateful for.

          "See you then," Phoenix says.

          Edgeworth glances up at him, looking like he's trying to decide whether to say something or not.  Phoenix waits patiently - he's gotten pretty good at patience over these past few years - and eventually, it pays off: "Ah - about that," Edgeworth begins hesitantly, and he clears his throat - not the kind of throat-clearing he does when he's trying to hide a smile, but one that seems to be an attempt to mask his own nervousness.  "This is perhaps rather sudden, but I was wondering if you both would like to see me in two weeks, instead."

          Phoenix blinks at him, confused.  "Uh, well, if you're saying you'll actually be back in two weeks instead of three, then that works for me.  We aren't going anywhere."

          "No, that's not what I mean."  Edgeworth reaches into his messenger bag and pulls out a few slips of paper, offering them to him; Phoenix accepts them and looks disbelievingly down at the printed-out text.

          "Edgeworth," he says.  "These are plane tickets to Barcelona."

          "So it would seem."

          They stare at each other.  Phoenix feels like he should come up with some sort of meaningful reply, but he doesn't know what; meanwhile, Edgeworth looks like he's on the verge of bolting.

          "Daddy!" Trucy exclaims at last, apparently tired of the silence; Phoenix jolts and turns toward her.  "We have to go!  The dates on the tickets line up perfectly with my spring break.  It must be magic!"

          "Well, maybe not so much magic as a certain prosecutor's freakishly high levels of organization and planning, but sure," Phoenix says, turning the tickets around in his hand.  He glances back at Edgeworth, tilting his head.  "What's this about?"

          "You," Edgeworth replies, surprising Phoenix with the simplicity of his response.  He straightens, maybe less nervous now that Phoenix hasn't outright rejected him yet.  "There's an - idea I've had for some time now, but it can't be done without your help."

          Phoenix raises an eyebrow dubiously at him.  "About what, poker?"

          "About integrating European law systems into our own."

          That snaps Phoenix to attention.  "Law systems," he repeats, and though he's intrigued, he also wonders where exactly this conversation is going.  "And you need my help."

          "That's right," Edgeworth says, and then he shrugs and smiles.  "Who else, Phoenix?  If all I needed was academic knowledge, I could do this myself.  But I need someone who can bring a mindset to the table that I cannot.  I need you."

          Me, Phoenix thinks in a daze, and he's not entirely sure if he successfully suppresses the shiver that runs through him at Edgeworth's words.  Trucy's enthusiasm was probably enough to make him agree to go anyway, but the idea of doing something, anything, related to the law - to be given a purpose in addition to raising his daughter - the thought is intoxicating, and suddenly two weeks seems far too long to wait.  "I don't see how I could possibly say no to something like that," he finally says, causing Trucy to squeal in excitement and Edgeworth's lips to curve into a tentative smile.  "Alright.  You've got me.  See you in two weeks, then?"

          "In two weeks," Edgeworth confirms.  He gets down on one knee to give Trucy a hug, then stands back up and touches Phoenix's shoulder.  "I look forward to it."  With that, he turns and leaves, and Phoenix realizes that for the first time in his life, he'll be allowed to follow.

*

Not only is Spain an experience, but it's the first of several.

          Edgeworth hadn't been lying about wanting his help.  When he explains his vision of overhauling Los Angeles' trial system over glasses of horchata an hour after Phoenix and Trucy land in Barcelona, the sheer audacity of the idea is enough to shake Phoenix out of his jet-lagged stupor, and he listens to the entirety of Edgeworth's plan, completely entranced.  He spends the rest of the week splitting his time between taking Trucy out for adventures and debating the outcomes of assorted Spanish trials with Edgeworth, and as exhausting as it is, he's sorry when it's time to return home.  For seven glorious days, he'd gotten to feel like a lawyer again, and he'd missed it far more than he'd imagined.

          And then - then Edgeworth invites him back: to London, to Vienna, to Lyon, to Munich - and Phoenix is allowed to keep on chasing that feeling, to experience once more the push and pull that comes with working with Edgeworth in the context of the law as they cannibalize the legal systems of every country they visit, trying to piece together a new trial system.

          Trucy can't always come, of course - usually she has school, so Maya and sometimes Pearls stay with her while Phoenix is away - but Edgeworth is still involved with them when he's in the States, which is more often than not.  When Trucy does her first performance in the Wonder Bar, Edgeworth is sitting in the front row with a bouquet of flowers.  When Edgeworth buys a home in the city and moves out of his loft, he invites Phoenix and Trucy to the housewarming, where he serves them chicken vindaloo (Trucy's latest request).  And when they go on walks at Gourd Lake, Phoenix will say or do something that will make Edgeworth laugh and laugh and laugh, and though his nightmares haven't gone anywhere, with each passing visit, they feel a little less vivid than they did before.

          All in all: he's seeing a lot of Edgeworth these days, and he's not complaining.

          This isn't to say, of course, that he's stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop.  He has full confidence that it'll happen someday, because it has to happen.  One does not simply have Miles Edgeworth in their life and expect him to stay.  But it's an eventuality he's accepted, and when the day comes in which Edgeworth leaves for good, Phoenix tells himself that he'll be ready.

          And so the weeks, months, years pass by.  Their vague ramblings about a new trial system start to resemble something coherent.  Phoenix finally learns what frequent flyer miles are.  Then, one evening in a hotel room in Zurich, it happens:

          "I have a confession," Edgeworth tells him, and Phoenix wonders just how ready he really is.

Chapter Text

Once, about two years into their rekindled friendship, Phoenix had tried to find out more about Edgeworth's soulmate.

          It had been during one of his Europe trips: he'd been jet-lagged to hell, his seatmate on the plane ride over had been incredibly annoying, and all the obscenely-long German words on the signs surrounding him once he'd landed had broken his brain a little.  As a result, as soon as Edgeworth had picked him up and shown him his hotel room, Phoenix had looked at him and flat-out asked, "Hey, so why do you think the soulmark is meaningless?"

          Edgeworth had blinked at him, confusion evident in his expression.  "When did I say that?"

          "You know.  When we first, uh... I mean.  After Iris' trial."

          "Ah."  To Phoenix's relief, Edgeworth had chosen not to comment on that little stumble, instead going quiet for a moment.  "I forgot I used to believe that."

          Used to?

          Phoenix had hated himself a little for finding this so intensely interesting, but it wasn't like he could stop, and thus he'd dug deeper.  "So you don't think that anymore?  Does that mean you want to be with your soulmate now?"

          "I never said that," Edgeworth had huffed, crossing his arms.  "You're clearly delirious from hunger, so I think it's high time that we get dinner and move on."

          But unfortunately for Edgeworth, Phoenix had had no intention of moving on.  He'd wheedled and whined throughout their meal, only letting himself be distracted from the topic if it was about Trucy, and finally, as Edgeworth had looked down into his nearly-empty glass of wine, he'd deigned to give him a more complete answer.

          "Our soulmarks are indicators of something deeply painful," he'd said quietly, and the fragility in his voice had made Phoenix wonder if he'd arrived at this conclusion not through logic, but something else entirely.  "Is romantic entanglement with someone who invokes such grief really so wise?  Not even for myself, but for the other party.  It's far simpler, I think, to abstain from this soulmark business altogether."

          "Abstain," Phoenix had repeated in disbelief.  Yes, Edgeworth had talked about choice in the past, and yes, it was definitely in Phoenix's best, selfish interest that he felt this way, but not only was it hard to trust that Edgeworth really did have this mindset, it just... also felt wrong.  "But Edgeworth, it's your soulmate.  Isn't it worth it to, you know... persevere?"

          Edgeworth had made a soft, non-committal sound then, finishing the last of his wine and setting the glass gently back down on the table.  "Maybe," he'd replied, "I'm already persevering."

          And no matter how much more Phoenix had pressed, Edgeworth had refused to explain himself any further.

*

Now it's a year later, and the city's changed from Munich to Zurich as Edgeworth sips from a cup of tea and closes his laptop.  This, Phoenix knows, has always been a sign that they're about to wrap up for the night - which is why when Edgeworth suddenly tells him that he has a confession, Phoenix's heart lurches in his chest, and he has to set his own teacup down before his hands figure out how to betray his feelings.

          "Oh?  Sounds juicy," he makes himself reply at last, attempting to project an air of indifference as though he doesn't expect his world to be on the verge of turning upside-down.  It's been three years now since Edgeworth re-entered his life: three years of him being around to celebrate milestones with Trucy, three years of putting together a jurist system proof of concept together, three years of - of friendship.

          Of friendship, and nothing more.

          This is, in theory, exactly what Phoenix wants.  It's what he'd offered that day in the supermarket, after all, and it's what Edgeworth had accepted.  In the first few months after their reunion, Phoenix had even feared that Edgeworth might push for a romantic relationship again - or worse, that he himself would push for it.  Edgeworth had appeared on his doorstep after the Skye trial, but Phoenix had been the one to kiss him after Iris'.  Their track record for being emotionally stable around each other isn't exactly stellar.  This time, though, they'd somehow both behaved like the grown, mature adults they were supposed to be, and now it's three years later and they've remained strictly platonic.

          And tonight, apparently, Edgeworth has a confession.  Is today the day, Phoenix wonders, where his feelings about Edgeworth will be put to the test?  Will Edgeworth tell him I've found my soulmate, leaving Phoenix to figure out if this is something he can actually deal with?

          "This is the last Europe trip for some time," Edgeworth says.

          Phoenix nods, mostly to himself.  So this really is it, then.  True, Edgeworth had talked like he didn't plan on being with his soulmate, but surely he's about to lay all the details on Phoenix now: he's met someone, and Phoenix no longer fits in his life, just like Phoenix knew would happen.  No more reason to invite him to Europe, judicial overhaul be damned.  This is the part where Phoenix should think to himself that he's glad that he got these three extra years with Edgeworth, right?  And - and he is, but god, he wishes it were more.  "Well, I hope you're happy," he says, and he mostly means it.  Mostly.

          Edgeworth raises an eyebrow, but he nonetheless nods.  "Er, yes, I suppose there's reason to be."

          Time to just get it all over with, Phoenix figures.  Like ripping off a bandaid.  "Alright, well, you can't leave me hanging.  Give me some details."

          "Hm," Edgeworth says, and then he smiles.  "Will a title do?  Say, the Chief Prosecutor of Los Angeles?"

          "What?"

          They blink at each other, and Phoenix belatedly realizes that they aren't talking about the same thing at all.  Maybe it's time to backtrack.  "Um.  Hold on.  You're saying no more Europe because..."

          "Because I plan on living in the United States full time and applying to become Chief Prosecutor when the position becomes available next year."

          "Oh."

          Phoenix takes several moments to process this.  After so many years of Edgeworth flying off and away every few months, Phoenix had come to accept that this was just an inherent aspect of the man, that he would forever be flitting between multiple continents and never be relied on to stay.  And yet here Edgeworth is now, telling him the opposite, and Phoenix simply can't comprehend it.

          "Really, Phoenix," Edgeworth titters once the silence between them has stretched for far too long.  "Haven't I spent the last week talking about how under no circumstance can Gaspen Payne become the next Chief Prosecutor?"

          "I thought you were just bitching about your coworkers - "

          "And didn't you notice that our trips to Europe have been becoming more infrequent over this past year - "

          "Which I assumed was because your Interpol friend was finally getting his shit together and needed to call you less - "

          "You visited my new house!" Edgeworth exclaims, throwing up his hands.  "Why on earth would I buy a home in one of the highest cost-of-living areas in the country if I didn't plan on staying long term?"

          "'Cause you're rich," Phoenix mumbles, but his heart isn't in it.  Maybe Edgeworth has a point.  Several points, even, all of which Phoenix has ignored until this exact moment.  He'd had his preconceptions of Edgeworth's behavior, ones that were solidified during the three-year gap in which they'd been apart, and he'd never thought to update them.  It's part of his defense strategy: assume that at any given moment, Edgeworth will want to fly off.  If Phoenix always expects this, he can't be disappointed by it.

          But now, sitting here in the face of what seems like new, incontrovertible evidence, Phoenix realizes that maybe those old assumptions are crumbling before his very eyes, and that it's time to move forward with a different mindset.  The idea is both thrilling and terrifying: he wants to be in a world where he can rely on Edgeworth's presence more, but he's also afraid of having faith in him.  Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth had once chosen death, after all.

          "I just never thought you'd want to settle in L.A., I guess," Phoenix adds in one last-ditch attempt to maintain his mental status quo, staring down at the keyboard of his own laptop for a moment before forcing his gaze back up.  "Sometimes it feels like you've spent more of your life in Europe than in California."

          "Mathematically, that simply isn't true," Edgeworth snorts.  His expression softens, though, and he swallows before continuing, "But... I can understand why you would have that impression."  He goes silent, but Phoenix senses that more is coming, so he waits.  Eventually, Edgeworth says, "Phoenix, I wouldn't have spent all of these evenings with you trying to determine the feasibility of reviving jury trials if I wasn't so invested in the city's judicial system.  Los Angeles, and everything that comes with it, is deeply important to me."

          Everything that comes with it, Phoenix's brain echoes, and he wonders just how much weight those words are carrying.

          "So when we fly back and land in L.A. tomorrow," Phoenix says slowly as he turns the idea around in his head, "you're going to stay, and not go anywhere for an indefinite amount of time."

          "That is what I am saying, yes."

          To trust Edgeworth or not to trust him: that's the eternal question.

          "I'll hold you to that, you know," Phoenix replies at last.  "Trucy will hold you to that."

          Edgeworth takes another sip of his tea.  "I'm counting on it," he murmurs, and smiles.

*

And so in Los Angeles, life goes on.  Edgeworth prosecutes.  Trucy performs magic.  Phoenix plays poker - and then he meets Gavin's new underling, a kid named Apollo, and everything from his investigation over the past seven long years starts to finally coalesce.

          "This is why we've spent all these years designing a new trial system," Edgeworth says quietly the night Drew Misham is murdered, sitting in Phoenix's kitchen with printouts of the case details scattered around him.  It's amazing how quickly Edgeworth received all of this information, and even more amazing how quickly he was able to pull the strings necessary to make this the test trial for the jurist system.  "Everything will hinge on the coming few days."

          "No pressure, right?" Phoenix asks with a laugh that can't quite hide his nerves.

          "Having doubts?"

          Phoenix shrugs helplessly.  "How can I not?"

          "Don't," Edgeworth says, and he looks at Phoenix, gaze so intense it makes his knees weak.  "I have faith in Justice.  I have faith in you.  The truth will be found, no matter how circuitous a path we have to take to get there."

          Phoenix's hand, halfway through reaching toward his cup of coffee, freezes.  "Say that again?"

          Edgeworth blinks.  "The truth will be found...?" he tries.

          "No, the other thing."

          "I... have faith," Edgeworth repeats slowly, brows slightly furrowed.  "I have faith in you."

          The words send a shudder through Phoenix's body, like he'd been standing out in the cold too long but is now drinking something warm, something bringing life back to all his extremities.  It's the first time, he thinks, that anyone's directly said anything like that to him since he lost his badge - and to have it come from Edgeworth, of all people...

          "You really have believed in my innocence this entire time," Phoenix says softly, and he can't fully hide the wonder in his voice.  "All these years.  Even though there's no way you don't associate my disbarment with - with me, you know..."

          He trails off, but surely Edgeworth knows what he's referencing.  Things between them are so much better now, and he's comfortable with Edgeworth in a way he hasn't been in years, but it still feels awkward and fraught to bring up what came before.  While places like Gourd Lake no longer have such a hold on him, letting his mind wander to the topic of Edgeworth's - departure - still makes him feel sick to his stomach.  At some point, he'd stopped trying to bring it up, because what's the point?  All it does is distress him, and he doesn't need to talk about it for them to be friends.

          "Yes, that's true," Edgeworth says, his hand drifting to his arm in order to grip it, until he seems to realize what he's doing and lets it drop with a sharp exhale.  "But what do those associations matter?  You're innocent.  That's simply all there is to it."

          "Wow," Phoenix murmurs, still letting the weight of Edgeworth's belief sink into him.  He takes a deep breath then, glancing at the clock.  Eight hours until showtime, and suddenly he can't wait.  It's going to happen.  They're going to uncover the truth, once and for all.  "Okay, then.  Yeah.  We got this.  We got this."

          "That's right."  Edgeworth stands up, straightening all the papers from the case into one pile.  "In any case, I should take my leave now, before it gets even later."  His nose scrunches as he continues, "It seems that neither of us will be getting an appropriate amount of sleep tonight.  Still, before I go..."

          He extends a hand in Phoenix's direction, which Phoenix blinks down at confusedly.  It's obvious that the expectation isn't that they shake - he and Edgeworth have never shook hands before, and there's no reason for them to start now.  But then a memory stirs, an ancient one from nearly a decade ago, and he at last understands the intent: tonight, they're standing at a precipice, like they had been the day Edgeworth was put on trial for his father's murder, knowing that what comes next will finally expose the truth about something that has haunted and followed them for so many years.  It had been Edgeworth drawing strength from Phoenix then, but now their positions have been reversed, with Phoenix being the one who needs Edgeworth's strength - and Edgeworth is here to give it to him.

          Slowly, slowly, he lifts his hand and brushes the tips of his fingers lightly against Edgeworth's palm, just as Edgeworth had done back then as they'd stood together in the defendant lobby.  Though neither of them speak, Phoenix knows in his heart that Edgeworth is remembering the same thing - remembering the first time they'd touched since re-entering one another's lives.  Then Phoenix takes Edgeworth's hand and clasps it tightly, feeling the warmth of his skin and the solidness of his grip as Edgeworth holds his hand in return, and in that moment, he feels like he can do anything.

*

An hour after Vera's acquittal, Phoenix pushes the door open to Edgeworth's office.

          "Phoenix," Edgeworth says, clearly surprised.  "What are you doing here?  I thought we were to meet later today - "

          "No, I had to see you now," Phoenix replies, half in a daze.  It's a wonder he managed to figure out the public transportation over to the Prosecutor's Building in his current state, still unable to believe how the trial had turned out.  Everything he's known but not really known about the past seven years has been proven true.  His name's been cleared.  The right person has been put away.

          "I did hear the news directly from Gavin - Klavier, that is," Edgeworth confirms as he rises from his chair and steps around his desk.  He gestures at the couch, continuing, "Have a seat.  It sounds like - "

          Before Edgeworth can get the rest of his sentence out, Phoenix stumbles forward, embraces him, and says: "Miles."

          The world goes still around them.  For several moments, there's no sound but that of their heartbeats: Phoenix's slow and steady, Edgeworth's racing.  Finally, Edgeworth ventures, "Phoenix...?"

          "Miles," Phoenix repeats, and he can feel it, the effect hearing the name has on Edgeworth.  It's a name he hasn't spoken for seven years, but today - today, he thinks, he can speak it again.  "It's finally over.  Because of you."

          "I didn't do anything," Edgeworth protests.  "Justice was the defense attorney, and you were the chair - "

          "Because of you," Phoenix insists.  He holds Edgeworth more tightly as he feels his eyes start to water.  The only time a lawyer can cry is when it's all over, he remembers, and while he's not a lawyer anymore - his badge remains gone, no matter what the trial had proven - it's no longer an unchangeable part of him.  Possibility exists.  The world is open in a way it wasn't an hour ago.  "None of this could have happened if you weren't here.  You've done so much - you gave me a chance - "

          "No," Edgeworth says, and his voice is very quiet.  "Phoenix.  You gave me a chance."

          Phoenix draws back at this, blinking wetly, and he finds that he understands exactly what Edgeworth means.

          Once upon a time, Phoenix had broken up with him, and they'd spent the next three years apart, less than strangers to one another.  And then purely by accident, they'd encountered each other again.  Phoenix had had a choice then: to walk away, or to stay and give Edgeworth a chance to rekindle their friendship, and he'd chosen the latter.  And Edgeworth, for his part, had had his own choice to accept or deny this chance.

          Both of them had made a decision.  Both of them had taken a risk.  Now here they are four years later, with Phoenix truly thinking he's a better, happier person for having done this, and he hopes that Edgeworth feels the same way.

          And given how well that had gone - well, it occurs to him that today, he could give Edgeworth another chance at something more.

          He's aware, as he always is, that the man currently in his arms is his soulmate.  He's aware, too, that he isn't Edgeworth's, but he's also aware that Edgeworth doesn't wish to be with his soulmate, a position he's consistently maintained over the years.  If Phoenix were to kiss him right now, he thinks Edgeworth would kiss back.

          For a moment, he's tempted - tempted to lean forward, to press their lips together, to slide his hands up into that silver hair he hasn't touched in seven years.  It would be so easy, and he wants it so much.  It's not even because of the soulmark - it's never been because of the soulmark.  Edgeworth is just... so important to him, and Phoenix never wants to live a life without him again.

          But the thing is - it's not really as though any of the problems that stand between them have actually been resolved.  Edgeworth's still the man who gives him nightmares.  Edgeworth's still the man who has another person's mark on his body.  Edgeworth's still the man who had once so devastatingly left him behind.  And though the nightmares are better these days, though Phoenix trusts him now in a way he certainly hadn't trusted him when they'd run into each other in a 99 Ranch nearly half a decade ago, the old fears and hurts still linger.  If he opens his heart to him, he knows it'll fester, like it had when they'd made an attempt at dating before he'd been disbarred.  It was a mistake then, and it would be a mistake now.

          "I'm glad I did," Phoenix replies softly.  Then he lowers his head back to Edgeworth's shoulder, eyes drifting shut, and allows the moment to pass.  There will be no second chance offered today, and as Edgeworth holds him, it will continue to be as a friend and nothing more.

          But it's enough.  It's enough.

*

"Unhinged behavior," Maya says as she polishes off her burger.  "Then again, I guess that's business as usual for you where Edgeworth is concerned."

          "So I guess you live in a bizarro world where 'unhinged' is a compliment, huh?"

          "If that makes you feel better, sure."

          Phoenix offers her his opened bag of Snackoos - a gift from Ema - which she accepts, pouring some into her mouth and crunching down.  While she's busy with that, Phoenix says, "Anyway, ultimately this is about proving someone innocent, whether or not Miles asked me to, and given my background, that's a perfectly normal thing to agree to."

          "Mm, no," Maya mumbles around her mouthful of Snackoos, holding a finger up to keep him quiet as she struggles to chew and swallow.  Finally, she continues, "Your background is that you became a defense attorney because of Edgeworth, and now you're going to become a defense attorney again... because of Edgeworth.  Like I said: unhinged behavior."

          "I can't believe I'm going to miss you," Phoenix mutters, and Maya grins triumphantly in response.

          Today, they're picnicking at People Park with takeout from In-N-Out and multiple bags of Snackoos.  Trucy and Pearls are somewhere nearby, and from the audio blaring from Trucy's phone, it sounds like she's been playing a bunch of Gavinners songs for Pearls.  Unfortunately, Pearls appears to be into it, and Phoenix can only pray that for Maya's sake, Pearls doesn't suddenly develop a taste for Gavinners merch the way Trucy had.

          Then again, Maya's about to fly out to Khura'in for two years in order to complete her spiritual training, so maybe it won't be her problem.

          It's a little sad, thinking that this is going to be the last time Phoenix is going to see Maya for so long.  Sure, they've gone months without seeing each other in person before, but at least Phoenix had always known that she was just a train ride away.  Now she'll be an entire plane ride away - two plane rides, even, because there aren't any flights from here that are direct to Khura'in - and the distance feels so great.

          "Don't be embarrassed, Nick.  I'd miss me, too.  And I'll even miss you.  Honestly, I'm kind of salty that I'm not going to be able to see you pass the bar and get this guy declared innocent for Edgeworth's sake.  Ugh, the FOMO."

          Phoenix has no idea what "fomo" is, but he decides not to ask.  "Well, it's okay.  We'll still be able to talk, at least.  And you'll be in an exciting new place."  He nudges her with an elbow.  "Maybe you'll even meet your soulmate there."

          "Ew, no thanks."  Maya has another aggressive mouthful of Snackoos.  "I don't need that drama during my training.  But, you know, thanks for reminding me of something else I'm going to have FOMO over.  You."

          "Me?"

          "Yeah, you."  She jabs a finger at him.  "Don't think I missed how Edgeworth is suddenly 'Miles' to you again."

          Phoenix shrugs.  "Well, he's basically responsible for clearing my name, so I figured he's allowed to have first-name privileges now.  I'm not calling you 'Fey' all the time, am I?"

          "Maybe you should.  It sounds kind of cool."  Maya takes a drink of water, looking thoughtful.  "Well, anyway.  It's becoming pretty clear to me that you and Edgeworth are actually on good terms these days.  You're not moping over him all the time anymore.  So what's the hold-up?"

          "The hold-up for what?"

          "Duh," Maya says with a roll of her eyes.  "The ultimate declaration of love.  The get-together after years of orbiting around each other's lives.  The finale."

          "I'm not sure how much of that was duh-worthy, but okay," Phoenix says.  He sighs then, trying to figure out how to word his reply to her, since he doubts she'll drop it.  This is never a conversation he's going to be particularly excited to have, but Maya's about to go abroad for two years.  He's gotta tell her something.

          "He left even though he made me think he'd stay," he says at last, and he knows that this is the true crux of the issue.  The nightmares and the one-sided bond are problems too, but they're both rooted in the same thing: Edgeworth leaving.  "I spent years being afraid that the words on my arm would come true, and I did everything I could to stop it from happening.  And for a short while, I thought - I thought I'd actually succeeded, except then I was proven wrong in the worst way possible."

          "I see," Maya says, looking contemplative as she taps her chin.  "So you're still afraid that one day, he's going to disappear on you, even after all these years of him not doing that."  She pauses.  "And what do you think would make you not feel that way anymore?"

          "Well, if I knew that, then maybe we'd have that ultimate declaration or whatever by now," Phoenix snorts.  "Which I guess means that whatever it is, it hasn't happened yet."  And maybe it never will.  Maybe he'll have nightmares forever.  Maybe he'll always assume that Edgeworth will eventually fall for his actual soulmate and leave, despite whatever assurances he gives Phoenix.

          "So you do love him."

          "What?"

          "You love him," Maya repeats.  "If you didn't have to be afraid of Edgeworth leaving, you'd be together by now.  That's what you were implying."

          "I," Phoenix begins, and then he trails off.

          Does he love Edgeworth?

          He had once; that much is for sure.  Standing in a supermarket a decade ago, Edgeworth had laughed, and Phoenix had been smitten.  Then the rest of their lives had happened, and love had felt so much more impossible to achieve, not with everything between them.  It's funny: he can admit to himself that he wants to be with Edgeworth, can admit that a part of him wants to throw caution to the wind and give him that second chance because despite everything, Edgeworth is still as incredible and beautiful as he ever was, and yet Phoenix is still hesitant to take that extra step and say that it's because of love.  It's harder to pretend that they're just friends if Phoenix acknowledges that he loves him.  Harder to put distance between them.  And for the sake of his own sanity, he needs that distance.

          "Can you love someone you don't fully trust?" he eventually asks.

          Maya purses her lips, picking up another Snackoo but not eating it.  "Romantically, you mean?" she ventures.  "I... think you can.  But maybe it wouldn't be very healthy."

          Phoenix nods slowly.  "Then that's what I feel," he says quietly.  "Love, but with an asterisk."

          "I guess that's a pretty big asterisk," Maya admits.  She pops the Snackoo into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.  "Nick... have you ever considered just talking about it with him?"

          "I can't," Phoenix says without hesitation.

          "Why not?"

          Phoenix thinks about that one beautiful and terrible night with Edgeworth in which they'd slept together, where he'd been convinced that afterward, Edgeworth would surely stay.  Instead, he'd woken up to an empty bed, and the horror of the following days remains something he can vividly remember, if he lets himself.  The events of that evening had rippled through the rest of his life - ripple through his life still, and though ultimately Edgeworth didn't commit suicide after all and has since become a positive force in both Phoenix's and Trucy's lives, letting himself dwell on it still threatens to bring him down into an unfathomably dark place.  He already knows what happens when he allows his mind to go there in Edgeworth's presence: anxiety, flashbacks, dread.  Even now, focusing on the memory too hard makes his stomach churn, his toes clench, like his body is still primed to do something in response to Edgeworth hurting him.

          "The last time I was in a bad spot emotionally where he was concerned, I broke up with him," Phoenix replies after a moment.  "And the time before that, I decked him in the face - yeah, I know, I shouldn't have - and said... well.  I won't ever repeat it.  But they were some pretty terrible things."

          "Things," Maya repeats slowly.  Her eyes go wide.  "The kind of things that might become a soulmark, you mean."

          "Possibly," Phoenix says, and even though the answer is vague enough that it's not technically a lie, he knows he's deliberately hiding the truth from Maya.  It still stings to think about sometimes - to think that that was it, the key moment where Edgeworth realized that Phoenix wasn't his soulmate - but of course, the very fact that it stings is part of why he and Edgeworth remain perpetually in limbo.  Eager to change topics, he continues, "Look, we're finally stable now because enough time has passed where I can get away with not having to think about that stuff anymore and can therefore conveniently avoid all the negative feelings, and I'm not in any rush to change that."

          Maya frowns.  "But you can't suppress everything forever."

          Phoenix grins, though of course his heart isn't actually in it.  "Can't I?" he asks.  "I'm happy enough with him right now.  And I think Miles is happy enough.  What more do we need?"

          "Does 'love with an asterisk' sound good to you?"

          "It's better than hate."  Phoenix sighs, taking his beanie off so he can fiddle with it.  "Besides," he continues, voice soft, "maybe I'm scared that even the act of talking to him about it after so much time has already passed will make him want to leave.  There was a window where I could have brought this up, but I didn't, and... I don't know.  It's weird now if I do, I feel.  See where I am?  You think that in order to fully trust him again, I should talk things through with him.  But because I don't trust him, I'm afraid to talk things through with him.  It's a catch-22."

          At last, Maya has no response.  Her shoulders slump, and Phoenix can't help but feel a little guilty.  "I'm sorry," he says, reaching out to pat her hand.  "I know you're trying to help.  You're a good friend, and I'm going to be so sad when I save a bunch of money from not having to buy burgers for you anymore."

          "Yeah, be reminded of me with every dollar you don't spend," Maya says, punching Phoenix lightly in the arm.  "But Nick..."  She pauses for a long moment, considering.  "What he did all those years ago was really bad, and I get not being able to forgive him for it yet.  But it's so obvious that you want to be able to.  You want to trust him.  And I think the thing with trust is that sometimes you have to take a leap of faith.  You'll never know if Edgeworth will actually be there to catch you unless you give him that chance, right?"

          A leap of faith, Phoenix thinks.  Is that really what he has to do?  The very idea seems terrifying, but he supposes that's why it's a leap of faith and not a regular leap.  "Maybe," he admits.  "Should I ask why you seem to be such a relationship expert?"

          "No, but just know that the internet is a wonderful place," Maya replies cheerfully.  "Anyway, this is the last advice that I, your wisest, coolest, and most mystical friend ever, will be able to give you in person before I go away for two years, so you'd better treasure it.  Promise?"

          She extends a pinky, which Phoenix looks at dubiously.  "Yeah, real wise and mystical," he says.  He can't deny this last request of hers, though, so he hooks his pinky in hers, shaking their hands.  "But fine.  I promise."

          "Good," Maya says, and then she flings her arms around him and pulls him into a hug, which Phoenix automatically reciprocates.  "Find happiness, Nick."

          I am happy, he wants to reply, but he knows that's not what she means.

          "I'll try," he says instead.

*

Edgeworth stays, and stays, and stays.

          The week before Phoenix's bar exam, Edgeworth looks him up and down, asks him what exactly he plans on wearing once he becomes a lawyer again, and takes him out to get a new suit.  At some point while Phoenix is getting fitted, Edgeworth is fiddling with his tie, muttering something about a Balthus knot, and Phoenix wants to say - something, but he doesn't.

          The moment passes.

          A few months later, Edgeworth treats him to dinner - for "helping to expose the ills in the Prosecutor's Office", he claims - and orders the Bananas Foster beignets for dessert.

          "Why not the regular beignets?" Phoenix asks.  "I thought you were more of a 'classic flavors' kind of guy."

          Edgeworth shrugs.  "But you aren't, and I got these for you," he replies, and the exchange feels so familiar that once again, Phoenix almost opens his mouth: he's tempted, so tempted, to call it out, to bring up the past, but...

          The moment passes.

          Half a year after that, Trucy signs a deal to perform at the Penrose Theater, and she surprises the both of them with free tickets to a showing of the Steel Samurai musical that the venue had gifted her.  Edgeworth's a terrible actor, and it's so obvious that he's hiding his glee as he accepts, despite his best efforts.  "This is a present from your daughter, Phoenix," he says haughtily with a dramatic clearing of his throat - the old tell again, always the tell - handing him one of the tickets.  "You don't plan on spurning it, do you?"

          So they go and watch the musical together, and of course it's as terrible as Phoenix had expected it to be.  But throughout the show, he finds himself glancing at Edgeworth, seeing the sheer wonder on his face as he drinks in the spectacle, and he's reminded so strongly of the boy Edgeworth had once been over two decades ago - the boy who'd saved him, the boy who'd defended him, the boy who'd never hurt him.  And for a little while, he feels safe, but eventually the musical ends, and the lights come on again.

          The moment passes.

          Two years go by, and as Phoenix sits on a plane headed to Khura'in, looking down at the blank spot on his arm where the concealer is covering his soulmark, he can't help but think about how disappointed Maya will be in him when she learns that Phoenix has let all these chances to talk things through with Edgeworth slip away.  Why, she'll undoubtedly ask, and the only response he can think of is, I'm just not ready yet.

          Except then he gets caught up in Khura'in's insane judicial system, and the next thing he knows, Apollo, Athena, and Edgeworth himself all wind up in the country with him, and they're now standing around in the old Sahdmadhi law offices after that disastrous meeting at the palace, wondering if they should go back to the temple or not.

          "There's so many spiders here, though," Athena laments.

          "But if we leave to avoid the spiders, we'll still have to go through the sewers," Apollo points out.  "Is that actually better?"

          Edgeworth sighs, stepping forward.  "We're all here already, so we might as well stay," he says briskly, then points to the door leading to the office.  "Cykes.  Take the office for the evening.  Justice, Phoenix, and I will remain here in the reception area.  Let us pray these arrangements are only for tonight, but for now this is the best we can do.  Agreed?"

          Athena and Apollo glance at one another.  "Agreed," they repeat weakly, and Phoenix finds himself deeply grateful - again - that Edgeworth is here to keep them stable, his rock in the storm.  He genuinely doesn't know where he'd be right now without Edgeworth's help, and he's glad he won't have to find out.

          A few minutes later, Athena's dragged her things into the adjacent office and shut the door, leaving the three of them staring at the two couches in the room, and Phoenix realizes what's probably going through everyone's head - and he realizes, too, what he wants the solution to be.  "Turn the couches around and make them not face each other so that we can get some privacy," he instructs, grabbing onto one couch and motioning for Apollo to do the same to the other.  "And Apollo - you can have that one.  I'll share this one with Miles."

          "What - " Apollo begins.

          "Unless you want me to share with you?" Phoenix asks.

          "N-no, but what about - "

          "Cool.  Get some sleep, then.  We'll need to be at our best for tomorrow's trial."

          Apollo looks helplessly at Edgeworth, who shrugs in response.  Content to ignore their reactions, Phoenix finishes rotating the couch, dusting his hands off afterward and gesturing to it with a glance in Edgeworth's direction.  "After you."

          Edgeworth stares down at it, expression dubious.  "You can't be serious," he says.  "Phoenix, you're the one with the trial tomorrow.  You need the better rest, and I can sleep on the floor - "

          "After you dropped everything to help us?" Phoenix counters.  "I'm not going to make you lie on the ground with a bunch of spiders."

          "Very considerate, but..."  Edgeworth trails off, swallowing.  It takes a few moments, but then he continues, "You truly won't be - uncomfortable?  If we share?"

          "No," Phoenix says, and he takes a step toward him.  "Will you be?"

          Edgeworth breathes in, breathes out, and meets his gaze.  "No," he says softly in reply.

          "Then it's settled."  They each shrug out of some of their clothing - Phoenix first, with Edgeworth hesitantly following his lead - then, with some difficulty, find a tolerable position on the couch.  Edgeworth winds up sitting upright on one end - he's used to sleeping like this, he claims, from all his international flights - and Phoenix is laying his head down on Edgeworth's lap, blinking up at him.  "You're okay with this?" he confirms.

          "I'd be more worried about yourself, if you've been manifesting back pain lately," Edgeworth replies with a soft huff.  "Is this comfortable?"

          "It is," Phoenix says, and he finds that he means it in more ways than one.

          They fall silent then, and for a while, Phoenix just listens to the soft sounds of Apollo's snoring mingling with the ambient noise coming from outside, letting his thoughts wander.  It's been a difficult few weeks, what with everything that's been going on, and yet he feels oddly calm about it all.  Edgeworth is here for him again, like he has been so many times over the past few years, and Phoenix can't imagine not being able to surmount whatever the trial will throw at them tomorrow.  He's comfortable.  He's safe.

          And, he thinks, he's finally ready to take a leap of faith.

          "This," he says very quietly, "is the first night we've spent together in over a decade."

          From above him, he can hear Edgeworth's breath catch, but Phoenix isn't afraid - and indeed, as he'd hoped for, as he'd known, Edgeworth doesn't bolt or feign sleep; instead, he gazes into the distance, expression barely visible from the sliver of moonlight making its way into the room.  "It is," he replies, voice just as soft.  "I've put you through so much since then."

          The acknowledgement sends a shiver through Phoenix's body.  After all this time, they're finally broaching the topic that Phoenix has so steadfastly danced around for eleven years, and he can only pray that he actually is ready for this, ready for the truth.  "Tell me what happened," he whispers, and they both know exactly what he's referring to.

          Edgeworth nods, and into the darkness, he speaks.

*

"I was going to die that night," are the first words he says.

          His tone is detached, composed, and even as Phoenix's own heart leaps into his chest at the reminder of what had happened eleven years ago, Edgeworth continues to talk calmly, as though they're discussing the weather and not his near-suicide.  "As you know, I spent fifteen years believing I'd killed my own father, and the course of my life was shaped around that one, singular fact.  Then in the span of less than a day, you proved that fact to be untrue, and though I was obviously grateful, I suddenly had very little to hold onto.  If I wasn't meant to put away every single criminal I possibly could, then what was my purpose?  What was I doing?"

          He looks down at Phoenix then, letting out a soft exhale.  "But then there was you," he says, and to Phoenix's surprise, he can now hear the slightest hint of a waver in his voice.  "You were there for me, and for a while, I allowed you to be my purpose.  You had..."  He swallows and pauses for a long moment, then forcibly continues, "You had so much faith in me, and I thought that if I could make myself actually be the kind of person who warranted that faith, that would be enough.  And for a few months, it was."

          "Miles," Phoenix breathes, and he doesn't know whether to be touched or horrified by what he's hearing.  Of course he's had some idea of his impact on Edgeworth's life following his not guilty verdict, but he'd never known that - that he'd been Edgeworth's purpose.  Never known that Edgeworth had been clinging onto him that tightly to stay adrift.  "Make yourself?  You never had to make yourself be anything.  You've always warranted..."

          He trails off, realizing where this is going, and Edgeworth smiles humorlessly.  "That's right," he says.  "The Skye trial happened, you expressed concern about my mental state, and I asked you to have faith in me to not do anything rash.  And that's when it happened, isn't it?  Ultimately, I did not, in fact, warrant your faith.  I broke your trust.  I broke my own trust.  I thought I could handle it - I survived fifteen years under von Karma dreaming that I was a murderer, after all, so how much could knowing I'd spent years presenting forged evidence possibly hurt compared to that?

          "But I was wrong.  Everything had fallen apart so fast in a matter of weeks: my truths, my convictions, my code of ethics.  Between my failure as a son and my failure as a prosecutor, going on suddenly seemed unbearable, and I decided to make - arrangements.  I wanted everything resolved as cleanly as possible, you see."

          The closed accounts.  The broken lease.  The suicide note.  All this information delivered in long-since-deleted voicemails from years and years ago, but hearing Edgeworth speak now, the recollection of Gumshoe's crackling voice playing through Phoenix's phone comes back so clearly.

          "I should have ended things at that point," Edgeworth murmurs.  "It would have been the prudent thing to do - to disappear then, forever, without making a fuss about it all.  But I didn't.  I couldn't.  There was one more thing I... needed out of my life before it was over, and I went to seek it."

          "You came to my apartment," Phoenix whispers, and a shiver courses through his body once more.  He closes his eyes briefly, remembering the look on Edgeworth's face when he'd appeared on his doorstep, how wild and desperate it'd been.  It was, he understands now, the face of a man who knew he was about to die.

          If anybody could have saved me, Edgeworth's decade-old ghost whispers, it would have been you.

          But he doesn't shy away from the memory, not this time.  He absorbs it, letting it settle around him as Edgeworth continues to speak, and for once, the thought of it doesn't make him want to be sick.

          Edgeworth nods, and in that moment, Phoenix feels like he sees a flash of that same desperation in his eyes again.  "I told you that you would hate me, because I knew exactly what I was about to put you through, and yet I was still fixed on my course.  It was the most selfish thing I'd ever done, and Phoenix - "  Here he pauses, breathing starting to go ragged before he forces himself to continue - "I am sorry.  Sorry not just for that evening, but for everything that came before and after.  I am sorry I broke your trust.  Sorry I left.  Sorry I let you believe I was dead for an entire year.  Sorry I minimized the impact my departure had - "

          "Miles, hold on," Phoenix interrupts, because as he listens to the words tumble past Edgeworth's lips, coming faster and faster like a train gaining speed, he abruptly comes to terms with two things simultaneously:

          One, that this self-flagellation, this outpouring of emotion where finally, finally, Edgeworth seems to be expressing at least some the hurt that Phoenix has felt over the past decade, is exactly what Phoenix, at his lowest point, had wanted out of him -

          And two, now that he has it, he can't bear the thought of Edgeworth feeling this way.

          "Miles," he repeats.  "Shh.  Breathe.  It..."

          It's okay, he almost says, but doesn't.

          Because it wasn't okay, what happened, and he knows now that both he and Edgeworth understand that.  It would do a disservice to them both to pretend otherwise, and so all they can do is acknowledge it and move forward.  "It was a long time ago," he says instead.

          Edgeworth shudders, letting his eyes drift shut for a moment.  "I hurt you," he says, and his voice is barely a whisper.

          "Yes," Phoenix says, because he had.

          "I should have told you all this earlier."

          "No."

          His quick response surprises even himself, but now that he's said it, he knows it's true.  "I... wasn't ready earlier," he begins, even if there's something of a caveat there.  He remembers Edgeworth coming to his office after the Engarde trial, wanting to talk, only for Phoenix to ask him to leave so that he'd have the time and distance needed in order to become ready.  And Edgeworth had respected his wishes: he'd left the office, the city, the country.  Except Phoenix had never meant for him to go that far, never meant to imply to Edgeworth that he'd wanted that much time and distance between them, but by the time he'd learned Edgeworth was gone, it was too late.  Then, once Edgeworth had finally returned, Phoenix was no longer willing - no longer able - to talk about it, and up until today - up until he'd realized he'd trusted Edgeworth enough to take a leap of faith - he'd refused to let himself dwell on everything that had happened.

          But there's no point in bringing up the specifics - they'll just each blame themselves for their missteps and miscommunications, and nothing would be gained from doing that.  Instead, he continues, "It's been over a decade, I know.  But I think it took me this long to... to be open to this.  To be able to hear what you had to say.  It had to be tonight, and not sooner."

          He falls silent then, considering all the words that have passed between them this evening.  For the first time in eleven years, he allows himself to think about what Edgeworth must have gone through back then, about why he'd done what he did.  The impact of his actions had nearly shattered Phoenix, but finally, he has the grace to accept that it could not have possibly been easy for Edgeworth, either.  No matter how much Phoenix puts the memory of that nine-year-old boy who'd saved him on a pedestal, in the end, Edgeworth is just a man as much as Phoenix is, one who had gone through trauma and dealt with it the way he best knew how.  Uncertainly.  Imperfectly.

          Humanly.

          With sudden clarity, Phoenix understands that at long last, he can put a name to the thing he has really been quietly grieving this entire time: the loss of the idea of Edgeworth as a perfect being, one who would have never even thought to succumb to the five devastating words scribbled on Phoenix's arm, one who would not have broken his heart.  And with this, he can now accept what he actually has - Miles, who is imperfect but incredible.  Miles, who has spent the past half decade proving to Phoenix that Phoenix no longer needs to fear his soulmark ever again.  Miles, who is enough.

          A feeling of calm descends over him then, as warm and comforting as a blanket, and Phoenix knows deep in his bones that at long last, all is well.  The past is still there, as it always was and will be, but it's finally let go of him - or maybe he's the one who's finally let go of it.  He's free.  But -

          "There's just one more thing I need to know," he says quietly.

          Miles nods.  When Phoenix doesn't immediately continue, he probes, "Which is...?"

          Phoenix swallows, hoping he's not crossing a line, but Miles had been the one to initially bring it up.  Surely it's alright.  "You - you said you were going to die.  You came to my apartment still planning on it.  A-and yet..."

          He trails off, unable to actually complete the thought.  Miles' lips quirk upward ever so slightly.  "You wish to know why I didn't go through with it," he supplies without missing a beat.  "Phoenix, do you remember the last thing you said to me before I left?"

          Phoenix shakes his head.  He remembers everything Miles had done - remembers the way he'd touched him, the words he'd whispered, the words he didn't whisper but which hung over Phoenix nonetheless - but very little of his own actions from that night.

          Miles looks down at him, then away.  "I'm always," he quotes, "going to want you to stay."

          For a few moments, neither of them speak.  Phoenix tries to process the implications of this, but his brain is frozen, and Miles is eventually the one to fill the silence.  "I daresay that the always was not strictly factual, given the way I hurt you," he continues.  "But it triggered something within me in that instant; made me realize the gravity of what I was planning to do.  I couldn't bring myself to remain with you, but I could no longer bear to leave, either - not in that sense, in any case.  And so instead of the Pacific, I found myself in Europe instead, and... I stayed."  He takes a deep breath, straightening.  "Now you know.  That night, you saved me a second time.  Perhaps not in the way you hoped for, but you did... and so here I am."

          "Here you are," Phoenix repeats, not entirely believingly.  Part of what had hurt so much eleven years ago was the weight of his own failure, the thought that despite knowing what was coming, he had still been unable to prevent the words of his soulmark from manifesting.  And while Maya had taught him that it wasn't his fault, to know now that what she had believed this whole time was true all along - and to know, too, the impact he's had on Miles' life... it's almost overwhelming to think about, and there's really only one thing he can think to say in response.

          "Thank you," he whispers, "for staying."

          He doesn't just mean for changing his mind eleven years ago, though that's the thing he will always be most grateful for.  He means for staying over these past six years, through Phoenix's highs and lows and each of Trucy's milestones.  For staying long enough for Phoenix to be able to trust him again.  He doesn't quite know if he fully forgives him yet - and he suspects Miles is sharp enough to be aware of that - but he's confident now that forgiveness will come someday, even if not tonight.

          "And Miles?"

          "Yes?"

          Phoenix reaches over and takes his hands, feeling the thrum of Miles' pulse beneath his fingertips, strong and steady.  His eyes flutter shut, and he curls in closer, ready at last to sleep.  Miles is here, and come morning, he will still be here.  There's nothing to fear.  "I'm always going to want you to stay."

*

*

"Look," Trucy announces as she turns onto the road where Miles lives, "we made it, and you only said 'objection' four times on the way here."

          Phoenix glances at her, hands so studiously in the 9 and 3 positions on the steering wheel.  Apparently they don't teach 10 and 2 anymore, which is a shame because that's one of the very few pieces of driving advice he knows.  Kids these days.  "Only four, huh?" Phoenix says with a chuckle.  "You might remember that if Miles had been the one to pick us up as usual, I would have said it zero times, and you wouldn't have had to drive this deathtrap."

          "Don't call Mr. Car a deathtrap," Trucy huffs.  "Besides, you really think Mr. Gavin would have helped me get something like that?"

          He supposes she has a point.  Miles has connections, but Klavier does too, and of an entirely different sort.  He'd been the one to tip Trucy off on a used car for sale going at a reasonable price, and from an allegedly trusted source.  Still, Phoenix can't help but say, "Pretty sure a rock star and your dad have different standards for what constitutes a deathtrap."

          "And so do you and Mr. Edgeworth," Trucy hums, "since he was the one to encourage me to drive to his house today in the first place."

          This gives Phoenix pause.  They're heading to Miles' home for dinner - Trucy's latest request is chicken adobo - and whatever topical flick is currently available for streaming, which by now has been a regular occurrence for years.  After the wild events in Khura'in, Phoenix is glad to have this normalcy to fall back to.  Not that this time is entirely normal - Miles has always come to fetch them before, but today, Trucy had informed Phoenix in no uncertain terms that she was ready to make the drive herself, so Miles could just focus on cooking.  He'd assumed that she'd made this decision on her own, and it never occurred to him until now that she'd worked this out with Miles in advance without his involvement.  "You talk to Miles?"

          Trucy takes the chance to stick her tongue out at him when they reach a stop sign.  "Daddy, he's the reason I got a 5 in AP French."

          "Huh."

          Phoenix takes a moment to digest this.  It probably shouldn't be so surprising - Miles has been around for so long, and Phoenix knows that Trucy's made a regular habit of hiding in Miles' suitcases - but somehow, it is.  Maybe it's because Phoenix had always considered Miles as a separate part of his life - one that has, of course, interacted heavily with the rest of his life, but nonetheless remained as its own distinct entity.

          He wonders if that distinction is actually true anymore.

          "Okay," he says finally.  "I'm glad, but just remember that I'm still your number-one anthropology homework helper."

          They grin at the memory, and then Trucy pulls up to Miles' garage, managing to park at a somewhat sane angle in his driveway.  She pulls the keys out of the ignition afterward, looking over at him in a way he knows means that she has something on her mind.

          "Do you think Mr. Edgeworth is happy with us?" she asks.

          The question is so sudden, so out of the blue, that for a second Phoenix is taken aback, unsure if he's even heard right.  "H-happy?" he stammers once his mouth is capable of forming words again.  "What do you mean, happy?  Why wouldn't he be?  Did you notice something?"

          Trucy shrugs, expression thoughtful.  "He's a hard man to read," she admits.  "Not like you, Daddy.  You've obviously been in love with him for a while now - "

          "What - "

          "But it's a lot more challenging to pick out Mr. Edgeworth's tells," Trucy continues, ignoring Phoenix's interjection.  "It seems complicated."

          "Complicated," Phoenix repeats weakly.  This was not a conversation he expected to have today, not while sitting right in front of Miles' house, and especially not with his own daughter who has apparently read his own feelings without him noticing.  "Well.  He's - he's a complicated person."

          "That's true."  Trucy does something with her fingers, and the car keys seem to disappear right in front of his eyes.  From her distant gaze, though, he doubts she was doing it on purpose; the sleight of hand became second nature to her ages ago.  "Mr. Edgeworth has been here for us for so long," she continues after a moment.  "I'd like him to be happy."

          Despite still reeling over her casual callout, Phoenix smiles at this, heart swelling.  He loves her.  He loves how compassionate and emphatic she is, and he couldn't have asked for a better daughter.  "You and me both, Truce."  Wanting to lighten the mood, though, considering whose house they're about to go into, he nudges her with an elbow.  "But what about me, huh?" he teases gently.  "Don't you want your old man to be happy, too?"

          "Oh, that's easy," Trucy says, and she beams at him.  "You're already happy."

*

The asterisk is gone.

          The realization, when it comes, is sudden.  He and Miles are alone in the Wright Anything Agency, sitting across from each other - Miles is hunched over his laptop and writing an email, and Phoenix is just watching him.  Objectively speaking, there isn't much happening right now, and yet Phoenix finds himself entranced by the little things - the faint movement of Miles' lips as he mouths out what he's typing, the intense focus in his gaze as he scans the screen, the soft cascade of his bangs as they fall forward into his face.

          I love this man, Phoenix thinks, and -

          That's it.  Period.  He loves this man, without restrictions or caveats, and even when Miles is doing nothing but sitting here catching up on his work, Phoenix can just look at him and feel like his heart is full to bursting.  There are no more nightmares.  There is no more hurt.  This is his soulmate, beautiful and incredible, and the urge to just kiss him gets harder and harder to deny with every passing day.

          But deny it he does.  How could he not?  In the past, it was because the asterisk was still there, their problems unresolved, and Phoenix had learned enough from his mistakes to know not to repeat them.  And now - well.  Now, Phoenix still thinks what he's thought before - that if he kissed him, he thinks Miles would kiss back.  And that should be the end of it, shouldn't it?  No issues there.  But one thing still looms over the two of them, an inescapable truth: somewhere out there, Miles' own soulmate awaits him, and Phoenix wants - Phoenix wants...

          Phoenix wants him to be happy.

          "There," Miles mutters, hitting one of the keys with finality.  "At last, I've - what are you looking at?"

          "You," Phoenix says - and then, before Miles can respond, he continues, "Are you happy?"

          He doesn't give himself a chance to second-guess the question - not that he would have, anyway, now that he's had his realization.  Find happiness, Maya had told him once, and while there was no way she had meant it like this, well, this is how he's interpreting it now: find Miles' happiness, because Phoenix loves him, and if Miles is happy, then Phoenix is happy, too.

          Miles blinks at him, nonplussed.  "Of course I am," he says.  "As I was saying, I've finally responded to the last of the media inquiries - "

          "No, not about that," Phoenix says, and he'd feel bad about continuously interrupting if this weren't so important.  "I mean about you.  About your soulmate."

          Slowly, Miles shuts his laptop, setting it on the table between them as he meets his gaze.  "I believe I've made my stance clear by now," he says.  "Nothing has changed since we first discussed this all those years ago.  I don't intend to be with my soulmate, and indeed, I am not with my soulmate.  Ergo, yes, I am happy."

          Happy, he claims, and yet Phoenix doesn't buy it.

          Incredibly, he feels a swell of anger rising within him.  He knows he shouldn't, that it's Miles' own damn business who he is or isn't with, but he can't help it.  Wouldn't it be the same with Maya or Trucy?  If they were actively denying being with their soulmate without any good reason, does he really think he'd stand back and let them do that to themselves?  No.  Not after all that he's been through.  Not after he's spent so many years trying to deny his soulmark, only for everything to still lead back to Miles - because ultimately, hadn't his path been leading him here well before his mark had come in, ever since that fateful day he'd been saved in a third-grade classroom?

          So here he is now, standing at the end of this road, and at long last, he's found happiness.  And Miles - Miles deserves that same happiness.  To follow his own road, even if it means leaving Phoenix behind, and to see what's waiting for him at the very end.

          "Bullshit," he says.

          "A bold claim, coming from someone who, as far as I can tell, is also not with their soulmate," Miles replies, sounding supremely unperturbed.  "Didn't you tell me the same thing once?  That being with your soulmate was not something you wanted?"

          Yeah, well, I lied because you'd just told me I wasn't yours, Phoenix thinks, though he can hardly say it.  Even now, he can't bring himself to voice out loud the fact that his bond is one-sided - but for once, it's not because it's a thought that brings him pain or shame.  It's just simply something he doesn't want to burden Miles with, not if he wants Miles to seek out his own happiness.  Impatient and wanting to move the topic away from himself, he counters, "That was a decade ago and we're not talking about me.  We're talking about you.  Are you really going to look me in the eye and tell me you won't even try?"

          Miles sighs at this, standing up and moving over to Phoenix's side so that they're now sitting next to each other on the same couch, and then he reaches out, placing a hand against Phoenix's shoulder.  It's comforting, because it's Miles - but it's also discomforting, because he wants Miles to feel as strongly about all this as he does, instead of trying to calm him down.  "I appreciate that you care enough to be bringing this up, but you needn't worry."

          He lets his hand drop then, and Phoenix misses the warmth of it almost immediately.  After a few contemplative moments, Miles continues, lowly, quietly: "I have caused a great deal of hurt in my life, Phoenix.  So to have what I have now is, in actuality, far more than I deserve."  His gaze goes distant for a second before he seems to catch himself, at which point he tips his head downward, the smallest of smiles playing on his lips.  "In which case, why chase after anything else?  Why not let this be enough?"

          What, Phoenix wonders, is this?

          But that's not the most pressing part to address right now.  No, what he needs to do is to quash this worrisome and wholly incorrect belief that Miles has, where he's apparently not worthy of finding happiness because of what came before.  "Because this isn't more than you deserve," he says fiercely.  "If there's anything I've learned over all these years, it's that your past doesn't define you.  You've spent six years proving that to me, Miles.  I think you can prove it to your soulmate, too."

          To Phoenix's surprise, Miles flinches away at this, one hand reaching up to grip at his forearm in that old, familiar pose - and yet as familiar as it is, it's also not something he's seen in a long time, and he hates that he's the one responsible for making Miles suddenly feel so vulnerable, even if he doesn't understand why.  Miles' next words do nothing to soothe him: "You truly have no idea what you're asking of me, do you?" he whispers, and there's a quiet agony in his words that destroys Phoenix to hear.

          It's all he can do to not immediately apologize, to not take it back.  But what choice does he have right now?  This is something he needs to see through.  "You know who your soulmate is," Phoenix presses, and though he'd originally meant for it to come out as a question, he realizes as soon as he's spoken that it's a fact.  With that in mind, he barrels onward: "Miles, you should talk to them, if you care about them at all - "

          "Care?" Miles cuts in, and his voice is far sharper than Phoenix had expected.  "Care?"

          With a jolt, Phoenix realizes Miles' breaths are coming in quickly, irregularly; his fingers are nearly white with how hard he's clenching them, and again, Phoenix doesn't understand his response.  "Miles, what - "

          "I have loved them," Miles says hoarsely, "since I was twenty-four."

          In the ensuing silence, the words settle around the two of them, and Phoenix takes a few seconds to process it all.  Since twenty-four: that's the entirety of their adult friendship with each other, and he'd never realized.  How can he have missed something so major?  Is this something Miles has ever shared with anyone?  If Miles actually does know who his soulmate is, if he truly does feel this strongly about them, then -

          "Why can't you be with them?" he rasps.

          What he doesn't ask is, why did you waste all of these years with me instead?

          Miles swallows thickly at this, gaze falling to his hands.  "I - I just can't," he manages.  "You don't know who they are.  You don't know what I've done to them.  It - it..."

          He pauses for a moment, blinking hard, and then he turns and looks straight at Phoenix.

          "It's unforgivable," he finishes, and under the weight of his gaze, Phoenix's heart nearly stops beating.

          An idea's blossomed in his head, terrible but beautiful, impossible but suddenly, suddenly possible, because the way Miles is looking at him cannot be denied.  Only half-aware of what he's doing, he reaches out in a daze, nudging away the hand Miles is gripping at his arm with before unbuttoning the cuff of his dress shirt sleeve.  And when Miles doesn't stop him, he goes further, pushing it up, up, up - and there, in the exact same spot as his own mark, are the words why should I have faith in anything you say in Miles' looping script.

          I know these words, is his first thought.

          How, is his second.

          "Up until that moment, I'd been convinced you weren't my soulmate, because I couldn't fathom the idea of you telling me anything worse than what you'd already said around the time of the Engarde trial," Miles says tightly in response to Phoenix's unspoken question, gripping at the couch now that he's no longer covering his mark.  "Only to have these words reveal something more terrible than I could have imagined.  We were together, and yet I learned that day you still didn't trust me because of what I'd done."  His throat works for a moment as he stares down at the coffee table in front of them.  "How could I live with myself after that, knowing the depth of the pain I'd inflicted on you?  How can I live with myself?"

          His discomfort, his anguish is obvious - his entire body is radiating tension, and he looks like he's about to run off at any moment.  And yet the seconds tick by, and - and he doesn't.  He doesn't run.  He doesn't bolt.  He doesn't leave.

          He stays.

          This was the final leap of faith, and whether Miles knows it or not, he's just caught Phoenix.

          "Miles," Phoenix breathes, and he realizes what he has to do now.  Trembling, he withdraws from Miles so that he can unbutton the left cuff of his own sleeve, shoving it up quickly before he loses his nerve.  His forearm is exposed then, uncovered by gauze or concealer or anything else because at some point he realized he was no longer afraid of it, and, heart pounding, he shows it to Miles -

          "Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses death," Miles reads out loud, slowly, disbelievingly, and Phoenix thinks he can see his pulse leap in his throat in response.  With a shaking hand, he reaches up, dragging his fingers over the words as though he wants to see if they'll rub away at his touch - but the mark remains, just like it always has, and eventually Miles meets Phoenix's eyes.  "I - I'd thought that my soulbond was unrequited - that it was no less than I deserved - but if this is your soulmark, then... then..."

          Phoenix nods wordlessly.  After all this time, he finally understands, and he can tell that Miles does, too.  Gently, reverently, he reaches up to cradle Miles' face with his hands, one thumb running over his cheek, and once again, Miles doesn't pull away, even as Phoenix feels a shiver coursing through his body - or maybe it's Phoenix himself who is shivering.  Maybe it's both of them.  Because right now, they're standing together at the precipice of something, like they have so many times before - but today, it feels like the precipice of something grand, something wondrous, and Phoenix can't wait to see what lies beyond.  "So," he murmurs, "you think you can still tell me I don't know what you've done to your soulmate?"

          For a long moment, they do nothing but stare at each other, and Phoenix takes the time to pick out the flecks of gray and ice-blue in Miles' irises, the faint beginnings of crow's feet at the corners of his eyes.  Eleven years, he thinks, of them growing and changing and learning - sometimes apart, but mostly together - and Miles has never been more beautiful.

          "I forgive you," Phoenix says, and then he leans forward and kisses him.

          There is no fanfare.  There are no fireworks.  The only thing there is are Miles' lips against his own, soft and warm and exactly where they should be, and when Miles surges forward, pressing Phoenix back into the couch, that, too, is exactly where he should be.  For the first time in over a decade, Phoenix gives himself to Miles completely and utterly, without shame, without doubt, without reservation.

*

When they're finally done kissing, when the desperation built up from so many years of keeping themselves apart from one another has eased - at least for the time being - Phoenix finds himself with Miles resting his head against Phoenix's shoulder, fingers interlaced in Phoenix's own, and it's one of the most comforting things he's ever felt.  For a long while, they're content to sit there in the silence, listening to nothing but the soft sounds of their breathing.

          Eventually, Miles speaks.  "You know," he says quietly, "that just because we've done the worst we can to each other doesn't mean we won't hurt one another again."

          Leave it to Miles to be practical - but that's one of the reasons Phoenix loves him, and in any case, he's not wrong.  "Yeah," he agrees.  They're both headstrong, stubborn men with headstrong, stubborn opinions, and he doesn't expect either of them to change - plus, he thinks with some regret, they've already hurt each other plenty of other times.  Nonetheless, he smiles, lifting Miles' hand up to press his lips to his skin.  "But we'll get through it together.  You've somehow managed to love me this long, haven't you?"

          Miles flushes, turning his face away - embarrassed, it seems, but why - and then Phoenix suddenly realizes that there's one last thing that he needs Miles to know, one last fact that needs to come to light in the midst of everything else that has been uncovered today.  "Hey.  Look at me," he murmurs, and he places a finger against Miles' chin, guiding his gaze so that they're facing each other again.  "A part of me fell in love with you when we were nine years old," he continues, voice soft.  "That part never stopped, even with everything else that happened.  And it'll never stop, because - "  Phoenix pauses here, searching those gray eyes of his he's come to know so well over the years, willing Miles to understand the depth of Phoenix's feelings for him - since Khura'in, since he got his badge back, since their reunion, since they sat beside each other atop a snowy mountain, since Miles laughed in a 99 Ranch, since he saw Miles' face illuminated by fireworks, since he was saved -

          "Miles," he says at last.  "It's you.  It's always been you."

          "Phoenix," Miles whispers.

          And then they're kissing again and again and again, and as Phoenix's eyes drift shut, as he feels the weight of Miles' body against his own, Miles' fingers tangling themselves in his hair, he thinks: he's not at the end of his road after all.  His road goes on.  Their road goes on.

          A whole new epoch with Miles awaits.