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Edgeworth stood outside the Hazakura Temple, the evening's sharp chill seeping through the wool of his coat. His conversation with Larry was a fading echo, swallowed by the dense fog that clung to the mountain pines. His mind was captive to Iris—the memory of her gaze when the truth about her feelings for Phoenix had slipped out, the crumbling sound of her voice as it broke. That confession had shattered something within him, an unspoken jealousy he hadn't dared to examine.
Her feelings were undeniable, but what truly unsettled him was how painfully familiar they felt. They mirrored his own in a way he hadn't been prepared for. The lonely solidarity of sharing a secret, unrequited orbit around the same sun. He wasn't the only one who saw Phoenix Wright as more than a friend.
His fingers brushed the intricately carved metal of the magatama in his pocket. Phoenix had always been a mystery, guarded and closed off behind a façade of easy smiles. Edgeworth had known this for months—had cataloged the subtle shifts in posture, the fleeting hesitation in his voice that belied his confident words. But there was something darker now in the way he kept his distance, a growing divide that gnawed at Edgeworth's insides like a vacuum. He didn't need the magatama to sense when Phoenix was lying; he could feel it in his bones, a dissonance that set his teeth on edge. But the stone would offer confirmation, the hard proof that something vital was being hidden.
With a sigh that misted in the frigid air, Edgeworth made up his mind. Tomorrow's trial loomed, a structured battle he knew how to win, but before he could face the courtroom, there was one conversation left to have. It was time to face Phoenix.
•••
Edgeworth lingered outside the hospital room, his hand hovering near the door handle. The hallway was silent except for the distant, rhythmic beeping of machines, a sterile metronome counting away the seconds. In his pocket, the magatama rested heavily against his coat, while Phoenix's attorney badge gleamed, a borrowed shield, on his chest. His fingers found the edge of his cravat, tugging it straight—a habit from courtrooms that followed him everywhere.
He eased the door open. Inside, the light was softer, diluted by the grey afternoon filtering through half-closed blinds. The air carried that particular hospital smell: antiseptic layered over something vaguely medicinal, with the faint plasticky scent of latex gloves. Phoenix sat propped against a bank of pillows, one hand absently rubbing his sternum through the thin hospital gown. Sunlight carved deep shadows beneath his eyes, but his expression lifted when he saw Edgeworth—a tired smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.
"Edgeworth."
"Wright." The response came carefully neutral. He stepped inside, his shoes squeaked faintly on the linoleum.
Phoenix's gaze caught on the badge. A lazy smirk appeared, that familiar courtroom expression that always preceded his most audacious bluffs. "You're still wearing that?"
Edgeworth's hand moved toward the pin, fingers hovering over the cool metal. "Ah, yes. My apologies." It felt like wearing a piece of Phoenix's soul—the responsibility was both burden and honor.
"No. It's all right." Phoenix's voice settled into that familiar rasp, worn from exhaustion. "It looks good on you."
The comment, so simple and sincere, caught Edgeworth off guard. Heat crept up the back of his neck, prickling beneath his collar. "You… think so?"
A dry chuckle. "Yeah. I guess I'll have to get used to seeing you in it for a while." The words were light, but there was something in his gaze—dark brown eyes unusually soft in the filtered light—that made Edgeworth's pulse quicken.
"You did say you'd resume the case once your condition stabilized. It likely won't be long."
"I'm counting on that." Phoenix shifted, wincing as the movement pulled at his bandaged torso. The starched hospital gown rustled against the sheets. He pressed his palm flat against his ribs, fingers splaying over the gauze. "Still feel like I've been hit by a truck, but the haze is gone. I can think clearly again, which is a start."
"Your fever—has it subsided?"
"For the most part, yeah."
Edgeworth nodded, some tension leaving his shoulders. His eyes drifted to the monitor beside the bed, studying the flickering green numbers the way he'd analyze evidence, searching for a truth he couldn't ask for directly. The rhythmic beep-beep-beep was almost hypnotic.
Phoenix noticed. A faint smile tugged at his mouth. "Edgeworth, I'm fine. Really."
Edgeworth didn't respond right away. His gaze lingered—and then he saw them. Five psyche-locks materialized across Phoenix's heart, chains of secrets that seemed to constrict with every shallow breath. Their blood-red glow cast no actual light, but Edgeworth felt it like heat on his face, an uncomfortable prickling awareness. He stared.
Phoenix blinked. "Do I have something on my face?"
The question jolted him. "No," he said quickly, too quickly. He slipped his hand into his pocket, fingers curling around the smooth, cool surface of the magatama. "Nothing at all."
"You've got that look again." Phoenix said knowingly, a tenderness that unnerved Edgeworth more than any accusation.
"What look?"
"The one where you're thinking too hard and pretending you're not."
Edgeworth hesitated, then turned slightly, breaking eye contact. The locks vanished from sight, but their impression remained seared behind his eyelids. "…It's nothing."
Phoenix tilted his head, dark eyes searching his face with the same intensity he used to spot contradictions in testimony. "You just pulled your hand away from your coat." A pause before continuing. "You're lying."
Edgeworth's teeth pressed together. "So are you."
"Excuse me?"
"Don't turn this around. I need the truth. Are you really all right?"
Phoenix opened his mouth—the practiced lie poised on his tongue—then faltered. His gaze drifted toward the window. "…I'm just. I'm just tired."
Edgeworth's fingers found the magatama through the fabric of his pocket, the stone now warm from his body heat. The locks returned, pulsing with a painful thrum. "I see."
"Seriously. I just need a little more rest. That's it."
"You're not okay."
Phoenix didn't meet his eyes. His fingers worried at the starched edge of the blanket, plucking at a loose thread. The rough cotton caught under his nails. "…I haven't been sleeping well," he admitted quietly.
The only sound was the mocking beep of the monitor and the distant hum of the heating system cycling through the vents.
"Why won't you just tell me the truth?"
Phoenix didn't answer. His hands kept moving, restless against the linens, fingers tracing the weave of the fabric. Edgeworth could see it—the slow-motion collapse of the man who always played the fool but never was one. The man who grinned through impossible odds and somehow always found the truth.
Edgeworth's grip on the magatama tightened through his pocket. Five locks. Five truths buried too deep for even their history to reach. He was close enough to see the fine tremor in Phoenix's hands.
"…Wright." The formality was a shield for the plea beneath. "Why won't you tell me what's really wrong?"
Phoenix's lips were taut, a muscle jumping beneath the shadow of stubble along his jawline. His fingers curled into the linens again like he was clinging to a cliff's edge.
"You entrusted me with your badge. With the magatama. With your client. And I—" The sentence faltered. "I need to know if you're alright. Not as your temporary stand-in. Not as a colleague." He hesitated, the words foreign and vulnerable in his mouth. "…As someone who cares. Don't make me force it out of you."
A dbitter laugh escaped Phoenix, the sound rough in his throat. "Is that what this is now? An interrogation?"
"If that's what it takes."
Phoenix turned his head away, presenting his profile—a silhouette of defeat against the pale wall. "…You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Try me."
"…I don't want you to have to deal with my personal problems. They're mine. Not yours."
"They don't have to be mine for me to care."
Phoenix glanced up, then away, as though the intensity in Edgeworth's gaze—steel-grey and unwavering—was too much to bear. "I don't want to burden you more than I already have."
"As if I didn't take a fourteen-hour flight to be here. Do you think I did that because I had nothing better to do?" Edgeworth replied, clipped with frustration.
Phoenix looked away, shaking his head faintly. A sad smile curled his lips. "…You really don't make things easy."
Edgeworth folded his arms across his chest. His silence was answer enough.
"I understand if you need time," Edgeworth offered after a moment.
"It's not about time. It's about—" He exhaled through his nose. "I know how much you keep to yourself. The walls you maintain. You don't need me adding to that."
"You say that as if I'm not already worried."
A flicker of guilt crossed Phoenix's face, a tightening around his eyes. "…You shouldn't be. I'm not your responsibility."
"Say that while looking at me."
Phoenix froze. The IV line trembled, saline swaying gently in the bag. Slowly, as if the motion pained him, he lifted his head and met Edgeworth's eyes. There was no condescension there. No arrogance. Just concern, frustration, and something else.
Phoenix held that gaze and realized there was no performance in those gray eyes. Just Miles. Honest, and entirely present.
He looked away, eyes twinkling. "You don't get it. You're… you. You've always had this sense of control, this composure. Me?" His throat strained, Adam's apple bobbing. "I fall apart in the middle of mine."
Edgeworth waited.
"I used to think that if I just kept smiling, kept pretending everything was fine… it would be. But I can't. I haven't. And now that I've finally stopped pretending…" He faltered, crumbling. "…I don't know how to start again."
One of the five psyche-locks shattered, the soundless rupture a palpable release in the room.
"You never had to hold it all alone."
Phoenix let out a grim laugh. "Yeah, well. I didn't exactly see a sign-up sheet for 'help Phoenix Wright manage his emotional collapse.'"
"And yet here I am. I didn't cross the ocean to let you keep pretending."
Phoenix nodded with a shuddering breath, his shoulders rising and falling. "Yeah. I know."
Four locks remained, a cage around his heart, visible only to Edgeworth.
"I'm not your responsibility," Phoenix said again, more firmly, as if trying to convince himself.
The magatama pulsed sharply, a cold sting against Edgeworth's thigh through the pocket lining. "You refuse to lean on anyone."
Phoenix's gaze dropped to his own hands. "And for good reason. I don't want to be a burden."
"You're always there for everyone else. Without question. But when it comes to letting someone be there for you, suddenly it's too much to ask?"
"That's different. I choose to be there. I don't need anyone's help."
"You give everything away and convince yourself that needing anything back makes you weak."
The second psyche-lock snapped—a sound like a frozen branch cracking in a still forest. Phoenix flinched as if physically struck, a full-body jerk that made the hospital bed frame groan faintly. The movement tugged at the IV, sending a metallic shiver up the pole and a liquid slosh through the tubing.
"You want the truth? You're not a burden. But pretending you don't need anyone—that is."
"I didn't ask anyone to care," Phoenix whispered, the last defense of a man who had only ever been left behind.
"No." Edgeworth could no longer conceal his hurt. "You never ask. You just keep bleeding behind a smile and hope no one notices. But I do. I've always noticed."
Phoenix's eyes met his again, shining with unshed tears that caught the golden afternoon light like glass. "…Why? Why do you care so much?"
"Because I'm not going to stand here and watch you destroy yourself trying to prove you're fine."
Phoenix blinked slowly, the tears escaping to trace paths down his cheeks. "You think I'm breaking?"
"I know you are."
The third lock fractured into nothingness. His breath hitched, shoulders curling inward.
"You've always been there for me, even when I didn't deserve it. Why do you get to deny me the same?"
Phoenix’s head bowed, the proud, stubborn line of his shoulders finally slumping in surrender. "Because I've always dealt with things on my own. I got used to it. And I was fine, Edgeworth. I've always managed."
"You keep saying you're fine. But I've seen you when you're not."
Phoenix flinched. "I'm not like you," he said. "I don't have anyone. No family. No one to carry the weight with me."
The steel in Edgeworth's eyes melted into something sorrowful and understanding. His hand moved unconsciously to adjust his cravat again. "Neither do I. After my father's death, there was no one. Franziska may be my sister, but our bond… Has never been what it should have been." Something profoundly lonely slipped through. "The truth is, I've only ever had one constant, Wright. One person who never gave up on me."
Phoenix looked up, almost afraid of the answer.
"You. I leaned on you more than you ever knew. You don't have to carry this by yourself."
The fourth psyche-lock shattered—a sound like fine glass breaking underwater.
His lips parted. “Miles… I… You're right. I’m not okay.”
Tears followed, a steady stream that traced hot paths down his cheeks, each drop landing with an inaudible pat against the stiff hospital gown. Edgeworth moved without hesitation, arms encircling Phoenix’s bandaged frame. Phoenix buried his face into the curve of Edgeworth’s shoulder, breathing in the layered scent of bergamot cologne, stale airplane air, and the faint, comforting aroma of Earl Grey tea woven into the wool of his jacket. His fingers clutched the back of Edgeworth’s waistcoat, cotton smooth and cool under his fever-damp palms.
Edgeworth held him, one hand cradling the back of his head, fingers threading through dark, sweat-damp hair. The spikes yielded softly, slipping between his fingers like cool silk. “You don’t have to be alone anymore.”
When Phoenix finally pulled back, his face was blotchy and exhausted, eyes red-rimmed and swollen. Edgeworth lifted a hand, his thumb tracing lightly along Phoenix's cheekbone, wiping away the tear tracks. Their eyes met—grey meeting brown.
"It's okay," he whispered. "I'm here."
Phoenix stayed close, forehead resting against Edgeworth's. He could feel Miles's pulse where their temples touched. The magatama was merely a cool stone in Edgeworth's pocket now, its work nearly done. The last lock lingered, but he knew its truth was not for tonight. This moment was enough.
•••
Time felt distorted in the sterile quiet after the storm. The shadows had lengthened considerably, the room now bathed in the blue-grey light of early evening. Phoenix sat at the edge of the bed, bare feet touching the cold linoleum floor, watching as Edgeworth stood across the room, straightening his jacket.
The motion of leaving felt like a door closing on the vulnerability they had just shared, sealing it away like evidence in a court record. His eyes drifted to Edgeworth's hand, stilled in his coat pocket where the magatama rested. A cold knot of understanding twisted in his chest, tightening like a fist around his lungs. He pushed the blanket aside and stood, one hand gripping the IV stand for balance.
Edgeworth turned sharply, concern flashing across his face. "What do you think you're doing? You can hardly stand."
"It's not that." Phoenix's breath came unsteady, his bare feet were cold against the floor, sending a shiver up his spine.
Their eyes met across the small space. Edgeworth instinctively moved forward, reaching for Phoenix's elbow. "You need rest. I'll return after the trial."
"Stop."
Edgeworth paused mid-air. "What is it?"
"The magatama. You used it. You saw the psyche-locks."
A flicker of guilt broke through Edgeworth's demeanor—the soft rustle of his coat as he shifted weight from one foot to the other. He averted his gaze to the window, then sighed. "Yes. I did."
"How many?"
"Four."
"No. There were five."
Edgeworth closed his eyes, as if pained. "Even if there was a fifth, I knew you wouldn't want to talk about it. I didn't want to violate your trust further."
"Then let me be the one to break it."
"I told you. There isn't one."
"There is. And the reason it exists… is standing right in front of me."
Edgeworth froze, the air rushing from his lungs in an audible exhale. "You're not talking about Ms. Iris," he said cautiously, his prosecutor's instinct for reading people suddenly sharp.
"No." Phoenix's throat worked as he swallowed. "Because if I had, I'd have had to lie. And I couldn't do that. Not to you. Not after this. The lock… It's about you."
Edgeworth stared.
"Hold the magatama again."
Edgeworth's hand moved slowly, as if through water, reaching into his pocket. As his hand closed around the stone, the single red lock reappeared, shimmering like a mirage over Phoenix's heart. It was different from the others, pulsing gently with each beat of Phoenix's heart.
"It's still there…"
"Because I've never said it." Phoenix's eyes held Edgeworth's, unwavering despite the fear flickering in their depths. "I can't keep pretending anymore."
The lock shimmered.
"You've always been there. Even when you weren't physically in the country. You were still in every courtroom, every argument, every moment I had." He moved closer, into the space that had always belonged to Miles, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him. "I told myself it was safer to risk nothing. That having you as you were—as my friend, my rival—was enough. But it wasn't true. The truth is, I didn't want to lose you. Because I—"
He drew a shaky breath, chest rising and falling visibly beneath the thin hospital gown. The final barrier fell. "I love you."
The lock dissolved without a sound, vanishing into the space between them. Edgeworth slipped the magatama back into his pocket, and reached for Phoenix's hand. Their fingers laced together, Phoenix's palm slightly clammy with nervous sweat, Miles's cool. The contact sent a shiver up Phoenix's arm.
"I meant it. You don't have to say it back—"
Edgeworth cut him off, his free hand coming up to cradle Phoenix's cheek. His thumb brushed across the sharp line of Phoenix's cheekbone. "I'm not going to pretend either." Gray eyes searching brown. "You're the reason I came back. The only reason."
When Miles leaned in, their lips brushed, the contact soft as a whispered secret. Phoenix felt the slight catch of Miles’s breath; his lips trembled against his mouth. He leaned into it, his free hand rising to rest against Miles’s chest. The kiss unfolded slowly, deepening in gentle increments—lips parting with a sighing sound. It was a kiss of late-night calls ended too soon, of “good luck” standing in for “I miss you,” of countless glances across crowded courtrooms. It tasted of salt from dried tears and the faint herbal hint of chamomile on Miles’s tongue.
Phoenix's hand gripped Miles's lapel, fingers digging into the burgundy fabric. Miles responded—his hand splaying on the small of Phoenix's back, thumb pressing against the knobs of his spine through the thin hospital gown, the other still cradling his mandible.
When they broke apart, it was only by an inch, neither willing to go further. Their foreheads touched, breaths mingling in the narrow space between them. Phoenix could see the fine lines at the corners of Miles's eyes, the slight flush across his cheekbones, the way his pupils had dilated until the gray was just a thin ring.
"You knew all along, didn't you?" Phoenix whispered against his lips.
Miles's eyes fluttered shut. "I was afraid to hope."
"You're one of the only things I've ever been afraid of losing."
Miles's hand moved to the back of Phoenix's neck, fingers slipping beneath the collar of the hospital gown. "You never lost me. You never could."
With Miles's fingers woven through his, Phoenix finally felt it, the beginning of something they had both been too afraid to name: Love, requited and no longer hidden behind locks and lies. They had finally found what they'd been searching for in every courtroom, every case, every distance: each other.