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It was like clockwork.
From the moment they’d met in court, they had instantly and effortlessly charmed the room with their banter and theatrics. Words flowed effortlessly when they teased and taunted each other with evidence and their rivalry became more lighthearted with each passing trial. Justice was serious, yet their expertise in the law paved the way for their confidence and wit to shine through as they battled for a verdict with their improvisation.
But then, court would no longer be in session. They’d rush to leave and talk in the lobby but the moment they left the courtroom all their charisma would evaporate. Eye contact was either never held or held far too long, and they’d subconsciously mirror each other's stiff gauche and gawky postures. They’d struggle to have a normal conversation that didn’t rapidly devolve into Miles accidentally saying something cryptic, or on the rare occasion things were finally going well, Maya or Gumshoe would interrupt with something trivial and the lawyers would be forced to communicate solely in scattered shy glances between the conversations with their respective assistants. And no matter how the specific dynamics of any particular uncomfortable conversation played out, their lobby encounters would always end the same way, with Miles exiting and Phoenix stuck in the courthouse watching him go.
But not today. Phoenix had decided he would have a normal conversation with Miles today. There would be no bizarre emotional repression, no casual talks of homicide, and no “unnecessary feelings.” He was going to talk about something casual, like… say… the weather! no matter what it took.
With an outstretched hand, he pulled Miles into a greeting shake. “Edgeworth,” he acknowledged.
“Wright.”
“So uh,” Phoenix started, suddenly nervous as he released the prosecution’s hand. “How are you?”
Miles frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Like, how are you doing?” This was already going downhill, he thought. And he had barely even said anything.
“What have I done to give you the impression that I am anything other than fine?” Miles challenged. Phoenix sighed.
"I was just making conversation, but now that you've gotten all defensive…," he trailed off. Phoenix’s face tensed and his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to figure out what was troubling the prosecutor, but was met with a strangely soft expression from Miles. That was arguably more alarming than if the prosecutor had just been scowling like normal.
“I’m sorry, Wright,” Miles said, holding the other man’s stare. “I’m just really tired is all.”
“Really? Why?”
Miles’ gaze turned right back into the cold stare Phoenix was used to.
“Phoenix Wright. We just finished a trial and you’re asking why I’m tired.”
Phoenix glared at his stupid smug face. “I’d like to think I’m not that exhausting,” he muttered.
“That’s not even—” Miles interrupted himself with a dramatic exasperated scoff. “Look, it has nothing to do with you. I just didn’t sleep well last night.”
The silence between them felt heavy while their eyes darted everywhere but on each other’s faces. Phoenix wondered if he was still having nightmares, but kept quiet. The silence lengthened and Miles glanced at the door, almost turning to leave, and Phoenix knew he had to act fast if he wanted to make any progress with his efforts to communicate about “normal things.”
“So,” he blurted. “Do you want to get coffee?”
The following silence was even worse than the one prior. Miles looked taken aback by this question, justifiably so. Then again, while Miles didn’t look particularly happy about this proposal (when did he ever look happy?), he didn’t seem opposed. Those fleeting seconds of stillness were enough for Phoenix’s mind to ask a million questions. Why was that the thing he said? Whatever happened to his original goal of talking about the weather? And most of all, why was Miles always so weird?
“...Why?”
Apparently, Phoenix had been bluffing so much in court that he had exhausted his ability to come up with any more excuses on the spot. Based on the look he was getting, Miles had also figured this out.
Without waiting for an answer, he said, "You know what Wright?... Fine. We can get coffee."
" Really ?" Phoenix raised an eyebrow. He'd thought it unlikely that his desire—for coffee—would be reciprocated.
"Oh please," Miles scoffed. "Yes, 'really.' Unlike certain defense attorneys, I don't say things I'm unsure of."
Phoenix tried to ignore that last part. “Do you have a preference about where we go?”
Miles raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who invited me,” he said, with his signature infuriating smirk. It felt like a taunt to Phoenix, even if he wasn’t exactly sure what was being taunted. He wasn’t going to back down now though, not after getting this far.
“I propose,” Phoenix started, feigning confidence, “that we go to…,” He’d hoped to have thought of a cafe by now. Needless to say, he had not.
“We’ll go to Gatewater,” Miles interrupted. “The Gatewater Hotel has a nice cafe attached and it's within walking distance.” Phoenix opened his mouth to say something but was cut off again with, “I know for a fact you had no plan when you asked if I wanted coffee. You’re lucky I know what’s around here.”
There was no use arguing with that. Phoenix sighed in defeat. "That sounds good," he said, trying to ignore how the conversation had somehow become a competition again. "I'd like that."
The walk to the cafe was longer than Phoenix had expected and he found his feet hurting after only the first five minutes. “How do you walk so fast…?” Phoenix panted, the throbbing in his heels only worsened by his ill-fitting dress shoes.
“How do you walk so slow?” Miles retorted, but slowed his pace anyway. Now they were side by side, taking up half the sidewalk and walking just fast enough to not disrupt the flow of foot traffic. Phoenix turned to look at Miles whose eyes were fixed forward with purpose, like navigating to this cafe was the most important quest he would ever undertake. The wind blew exceptionally hard today and pushed Miles’ hair back in such a way that he looked like a fashion model. He probably could be, Phoenix thought to himself. He was handsome enough, and with his intense stares he would probably fit perfectly on a magazine cover or—
The harsh reality was that Phoenix Wright—though he’d never admit it to anyone—was irremediably in love with Miles Edgeworth. It was something he sort of always knew, though it was only until recently that he could admit that sickening, unrelenting attraction towards his “rival” to himself. For so long, Phoenix chalked his obsession with the man up to an intense desire to “save” him, and while that was true, it wasn’t the whole truth. Eventually, he had to stop lying to himself, something he often wished he hadn’t done, because being aware of these feelings meant lying in bed fantasizing about all the ways he could love the unobtainable. And it hurt. Phoenix tried not to think about Miles if he could help it, but his yearning pulled him ever so dangerously closer to the man. One could go so far as to say the magnetic pull was paradoxical, that despite the anxieties and heartbreak Phoenix was always eager to return to Miles like a dog.
And that is why Phoenix found himself sweating, short-breathed, and with his feet aching, all for the miracle of Miles Edgeworth agreeing to take him out for coffee.
“Wright. You’re staring.” Miles’ remarked, maintaining their even pace. Phoenix snapped back to reality, face flushing with realization at what he had been doing. “Sorry,” he muttered, looking away, before returning to add, “It sure is windy.”
“It's the Santa Ana winds,” he informed Phoenix, who of course having lived in LA his whole life already knew this. But at least it was small talk, so he couldn’t complain. And hey! That’s talking about the weather!
Miles abruptly stopped in front of the Gatewater Hotel. Phoenix hadn’t even realized it crept up on them; he was too absorbed in Miles to notice.
“We’re here,” said Miles, again informing Phoenix of the obvious.
.
“After you,” Miles said, holding the door and motioning for Phoenix to enter. He had that awful, stupid expression on his face, that sly smirk as if he had won something. He had won something, as corny as it sounded; he had won Phoenix’s heart. But they were rivals. Maya’s voice echoed in the back of his head, one quote still ringing in his ears three years later. “They’re rivals! Rivals! Right, Nick?”
Phoenix entered, stumbling slightly, and let Miles show him the way to the cafe. It was distinct from the rest of the hotel, with its own entrance door and everything. Why Miles brought him through the hotel lobby entrance, he had no idea. The cafe’s aesthetic matched the Gatewater Hotel in its fanciness but had a more industrial feel about it. Faux gold pipes ran up distressed brick walls and the barstools at the floor-length glass windows were coated in intentionally discolored bronze. Almost everyone in the cafe was radiating an aura of wealth with their business suits and slicked-back hair, although Phoenix supposed he also fit the memo and God knew he wasn’t swimming in cash.
When they arrived at the counter (complete with some kind of expensive-looking glossy wooden countertops), Phoenix found himself overwhelmed with the sheer amount of stuff on the menu. Not only did they have tea and coffee, but they also served everything from cakes to soups to bagels. He turned to Miles with a wide-eyed expression but was only met with that characteristic icy stare. “Have you decided what you want to get?” the stare said as if they hadn’t just stepped up to the menu.
He started talking anyway. “I’ll have the English breakfast tea, and for my partner…” He paused, waiting expectantly for Phoenix’s answer.
Phoenix wasn’t really in the mood for coffee anymore; the more he looked at Miles the more his stomach felt like it was being tied in knots. Plus, “partner?” It's not like it was the first time he’d been called that, but in the setting of an uptown cafe with just the two of them (ignoring the other customers, of course), it felt more… real. Like they were partners, romantically. On a date.
Almost.
“Wright,” Miles hissed. “Do you want me to order for you?”
“Uh, yeah. Sure.”
Miles straightened up his posture and turned back to the worker behind the counter. “...For my partner, a vanilla latte and a strawberry cake.”
“Wait, I’m not paying for—” Phoenix began to object, seeing the obnoxious cost of the cake on the menu, but was cut off by Miles snapping, “Exactly, you’re not paying.”
“Wait, Edgeworth, I can pay, just—”
Miles then quickly and silently pressed a raised finger against Phoenix’s lips. His brain nearly short-circuited. He was basically kissing Miles now; even though the act was meant to be a wordless “shut up,” there were still undertones there, right? No, he was overthinking it. There was no point in thinking about that kind of bullshit now. He tried to turn his brain off, but with Miles’ finger still firmly against his mouth, he was having difficulty doing so. A breeze ran through his body, yet the cafe remained wind-nil.
“ I’m paying,” Miles restated to the cashier.
“That’ll be thirty-six dollars.”
Phoenix’s thoughts completely drowned out whatever they said after that. Thirty-six dollars? At least he didn’t have to pay for it, but still, did Miles not see an issue with this?
Phoenix felt Miles release his lips. “I could have paid for my stuff, you know,” he whispered as Miles led him to a seat. “I assumed we were just gonna go Dutch.”
“Wright, we both know that one of us gets paid significantly more than the other.” Miles retorted. “I have the means to pay…,” He sat down in one of the metal chairs at a two-seat table by the window. “…and so I did. I…” He averted Phoenix’s gaze and clutched his sleeve. “I apologize if the gesture seemed rude.”
Phoenix was a little bit surprised at the sudden change in demeanor from the man now seated across from him, who studied him intensely with a creased brow. “Only a little,” Phoenix ended up replying, smiling slightly. “And… thanks. For paying, I mean.”
Miles gave a smug look that had Phoenix immediately bracing himself, waiting on the surely incoming snide comment. But whatever sly or witty remark he’d been anticipating never came. He just sat there, staring, and Phoenix did the same, just absorbing Miles’ presence. Every little detail on his face was beautiful, from his rosy lips to his prominent cheekbones to more minor things like his slight eyebags and the very subtle layer of peach fuzz coating the sides of his face. Had that mole always been there? he thought. And had his hair gotten longer? The longer they stared at each other the thicker the air around them became. This tension was not aided in the slightest by Miles’ slight smile. It was impossible to read. He’d made the same face during serious conversations, he’d made the same face when he was genuinely happy, and of course, most infamously, he’d make that face when he wanted to exude an aura of confidence and even arrogance.
Neither man seemed to want to end their bizarre staring contest. Both were too caught up in each other to notice the waiter standing at the side of the table. An “ahem” brought them back to reality and they both quickly blinked away from each other. Phoenix’s eyes darted to the side while Miles rushed to grab the platter from the waiter's hands. "Thanks," he muttered. Was he blushing? Miles placed the tray in between them.
The slice of cake was perfect. It looked straight out of a cartoon with how even the icing was, and the strawberry crowning the top of the slice was the perfect shade of vibrant red. Phoenix wouldn’t’ve considered himself a huge fan of cakes, but something about this specific piece was making him ravenous.
“May I have a bite?” Miles asked.
Phoenix stared down at the cake. “They only gave us one fork.” Even without facing him, Phoenix could feel Miles’ eyes burning into his forehead.
Miles paused long enough for Phoenix to look up at him again before speaking again. “Do you mind if I use it?”
“No,” he replied, maybe too eagerly, handing Miles his fork. Without missing a beat, Miles cut off a tiny piece and delicately placed it on his tongue, savoring the taste like he was some kind of cake connoisseur.
“Very nice,” he whispered to himself, nodding and sliding the fork out from between his lips. He quickly wiped off the fork with his napkin which stirred a disappointment in Phoenix that he decided to ignore. “Here.” Miles handed him the fork. “I believe you’ll find I made a good choice.”
Phoenix responded by also taking a bite, albeit less gracefully.
And damn if it wasn’t the best cake he’d ever tasted.
The thing about expensive rich-people food is that it’s almost always mediocre at best. In any other circumstance, you could order the same meal at a smaller family-owned business and it would taste twice as good for half the price. But this cake, despite its soulless corporate nature, somehow succeeded in being the Platonic Form of strawberry cake.
He took another bite. Actually, it wasn't that good. But it was cake, and it was from Miles, and he could never refuse free cake. Miles almost looked warm, soft, gentle. Fond.
Of course, that didn’t last. "Wright." Phoenix looked up from the plate. Miles' voice sounded so stern.
"Mm?" His mouth was still full of cake.
"It's occurred to me that you never did answer my question.”
Phoenix swallowed the cake. “What question?”
“Why did you invite me here?”
Was it so inconceivable that Phoenix could want to hang out just for the sake of hanging out? His heart sank a little bit at the comment, but he supposed it was a valid question. Defense lawyers didn't typically get coffee with the prosecution, even if there was something of a history between them.
Edgeworth’s eyes darted around nervously again. Phoenix knew he probably wasn’t looking much better.
“Well, we’re friends aren’t we?” Phoenix could feel beads of cool sweat forming on his back.
Miles glanced back up at him, briefly making eye contact. “I… suppose so, yes.”
“Well, that’s all there is to it.” Phoenix silently thanked his law career for making him such a good bluffer. Dealing half-truths became second nature.
Miles squinted his eyes in what was presumably suspicion, but didn’t pursue the topic any further. He shook his head, reorienting his thoughts, and said, “Yes, of course.”
“You seem disappointed,” Phoenix remarked. He knew he was heading into dangerous territory. His increased heart rate and shaky hands gave him a rush which pushed him to take it even further. “Were you hoping for something else?”
The other man was beginning to look more bashful, even coy. “I- I’m not sure what you’re implying, Wright.”
“I wasn’t implying anything,” he lied. “Unless you want me to be implying something.”
Miles's face instantly lit back up. He chuckled, then stared back with a stern expression. “And what exactly do you want me to want you to imply?”
Phoenix tried to take back the power in the conversation. “Oh, whatever you want me to want you to want me to imply, Mr. Edgeworth. ” This was not the power move he thought it was. The only response he got was a perplexed-looking Miles with his eyebrows all scrunched up and his head slightly cocked like a confused dog.
“...What?”
“I’m sorry,” Phoenix sighed. “I don’t know.”
“Well,” Miles got another devious glint in his eyes, “it’s good that you know when to admit defeat.”
Phoenix did not return the glint. Instead, his expression involuntarily soured. “Look, I get that our whole dynamic is this kind of weird friendly rivalry thing but… I want to have an honest conversation for once. I guess that’s the real reason I invited you.”
“You started it…” Miles mumbled.
“Oh come on, what are you five?”
“You’re one to talk!” Miles snapped back.
“Can you just stop!?”
The cafe went quiet. Phoenix could hear his heart pounding quickly in his chest. He didn’t realize he’d stood up; his feet were planted firmly on the floor and his hands stung from the apparent slam he’d given the table. “I really care about you, okay?” He sat down again. “I’m sorry. I wish I could—”
“ Phoenix. ” A firm hand gripped his shoulder. Now he and Miles were both standing up. God knows how ridiculously dramatic they must have looked to the other cafe patrons. Icy gray eyes pierced deep within Phoenix with a familiar yet unprecedented intensity. “Stop talking.” Miles snapped. “Just…” his voice lowered into a timid whisper. “ Can we talk somewhere else? ”
Only then did it register that Miles had used his first name. Phoenix felt heat in his chest—or was it cold?—tiptoeing the line between fondness and anger. “Fine,” he replied coolly. “Like I care.” Miles’ only response was a long, drawn-out sigh. Phoenix knew Miles had no intention of tipping as the man strode martially to the door and left a ten-dollar bill on the table to recompense the servers.
When the pair was back on the street, the air was decidedly warmer and the gale had only increased. “Fantastic idea, Miles ,” Phoenix scorned. “Isn’t this weather lovely?”
“Oh, don’t be that way,” he snapped back. “Your little ‘outburst’ back there was completely uncalled for. I– look, I wanted to talk as much as you did.”
Phoenix wasn’t sure what he was feeling. It was a nauseating void in his abdomen. This was going horribly. Or was it? Maybe his brain had just made it seem horribler. Feelings are hard, he thought, face flushing as they paced through the streets of LA to wherever Miles was striding.
Miles continued, “I mean, ‘want to.’ Present tense.” He slowed his pace and turned back to face Phoenix. “Trust me, there's a lot we could talk about,” he chuckled, as though he was making an inside joke to himself. Phoenix sighed.
After a few more minutes of awkward silence, Phoenix realized that he knew this area well. Very well. Miles was taking him to his office. It wouldn't be the first time he'd visited his workspace, but it would be the first time he visited for non-business reasons, he thought. There was still an ongoing case, but surely this was some kind of personal matter? He couldn’t imagine Miles would want to talk about the case after all that happened.
Miles went out of his way to take the stairs. By the time they reached the floor with his office, Phoenix was sweating buckets while Miles was still perfectly composed. Part of him wondered if it was all intentional, like some kind of weird one-upmanship. Then again, that was a rather self-centered way of thinking.
Not much had changed in Miles’ office, if anything. Phoenix reluctantly sat down on the ornate plush couch while Miles gracefully plopped himself down at his desk. He scooted the chair closer to the couch so he was directly facing his guest, all while shooting a knowing glare that seemed to say don’t you dare laugh . Granted, a giggle was warranted—there was something inherently silly about such an uptight man like Edgeworth shimmying his wheeled desk chair across the office.
The two men stayed like that, like a repeat of the cafe, just gazing at each other, daring the other to speak first.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re playing at, Wright.”
Phoenix’s heart started pounding even harder than before, and any warmth he’d maintained after climbing those treacherous stairs was immediately replaced with a deep-cutting chill.
“I know that I’m no expert in ‘feelings’ but I’m not an idiot.”
Phoenix gathered himself and stood up, looming over Miles still seated in that goofy chair. Phoenix’s hands started to shake, but he held it together. He had to. This was the moment of truth. He couldn’t mess it up. “So how long have you known?” he cautiously inquired.
“Known what? That your feelings towards me have far exceeded those which would be expected from a man towards his rival in court?”
“Sure,” Phoenix replied, testing the waters. “That’s a convoluted way of phrasing it, but let’s go with that.”
Miles flickered a bashful smile. “About thirty minutes ago.”
“And how long ago have you held similarly unprofessional feelings towards me?
Everything turned still. Even Phoenix’s hands stopped shaking. Finally, Miles spoke.
“Are you cross-examining me?”
And by God, he was. Miles sitting in a chair, Phoenix circling him, interrogating him with questions about their relationship (or lack thereof)—there was no denying the roles the two had so effortlessly assumed. Somehow Phoenix had subconsciously slid back into lawyer mode in the heat of the moment. And Miles, miraculously, had submitted to be his witness.
“Do I need to repeat the question, Mr. Edgeworth?”
“What question?” Miles taunted, fully leaning into his role
“Approximately how long have you held feelings towards Mr. Wright?”
“Since the second time I faced him in court.” he paused, calculating. “Over three years ago.”
Phoenix’s breath hitched in his throat. He dropped the act and returned to his spot on the couch, pulling a limp, willing Miles next to him. They were closer than they’d probably ever been since childhood, emotionally and probably physically. Those pale eyes avoided his face, awkward but glimmering nonetheless.
“For me, it was…” Phoenix whispered, “the first time we met, I think. But I can’t say I realized it until a few months ago.”
Miles hummed a note of disapproval. Or was it sadness? Even after all those years, he was still hard to read.
Miles rested his head on Phoenix’s shoulder. “We can’t do this, you know.”
“Do what?” Phoenix asked, his voice trembling.
“Be together.”
Phoenix felt his heart sink.
“It just wouldn’t work. I’m sorry.” Miles paused and Phoenix wrapped his arms around Miles’ shoulder to hold him gently. Miles leaned deeper into the embrace, resting his cheek on Phoenix’s chest, then continued, “I mean really, think about it. We’re both…”
Of course.
“...lawyers.”
That too.
Phoenix rested his head on Miles’. They stayed like that for what seemed like forever. Completely still except for their unified breathing and racing hearts. Phoenix couldn’t dare to let go. But he had to.
“So what now?” Phoenix said.
“I’ll see you in court,” Miles replied, tentatively. His voice rose on “court,” like it was partially a question, or better yet, a plea.
Miles stood up from the couch, wobbling slightly as he did so. He was shaking. Phoenix was too; his knees were bouncing rhythmically and his shoes were tapping on the polished planks below. He stood and turned to the door, the icy feeling in his core intensifying, combined with an awful gaping hole forming where his heart should be. All of this felt wrong , like it wasn’t meant to happen. Like he was going against the narrative.
“Wait!” he heard Miles call out, desperate. Phoenix turned around and suddenly felt needy hands pulling him forward by the necktie.
Miles kissed him. It was short and novice and gentle and sweet and his . But most of all, it was a goodbye kiss.
And Phoenix fled.