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Phoenix was a poker player. He gambled and he bluffed, trying to pin down his opponent while playing his cards close to his chest. The transition between playing professional poker and getting his attorney’s badge back was unusually smooth, but then his tactics in both situations were the same. He also favoured these tactics in his personal life: he strived to be seen as an open book, so that nobody would look too closely at the notes in the margins. The most damning secret he kept from all his opponents, even his allies, was his love for Miles Edgeworth.
Miles was a chess player. He focused on the long game, on being as unpredictable and unknowable as possible. He found that by being cryptic, his opponents tended to reveal themselves to him, filling in the blanks for him. It was then that he would make his move, and win his game. As with Phoenix, this was his strategy in court, in chess and in his social life. However, there was one person that Miles could never know fully. While Phoenix Wright seemed easy to read, it was only Miles who truly realised that it was a façade. That there was a whole other Phoenix, hiding behind his mirror image. While in the past, Miles may have wanted to know this Phoenix to destroy him in court, now Miles simply wanted more of the man who entranced him so totally. Even when Miles had convinced himself that he wanted nothing to do with his childhood friend, he couldn’t stop his thoughts from landing on the man. And therein lay the issue: Miles had become so accustomed to being unknowable that his own feelings were often mysteries to him.
Phoenix’s game began after a brief, stilted conversation with Franziska. Nowadays, they were civil to each other if perhaps not exactly friendly. Phoenix doubted that friendliness was a trait Franziska possessed, but valued her opinion as a lawyer and as a conversation partner. Usually, their conversations ended with a smile from a Phoenix and a snide remark with no real bite behind it from Franziska, but that day in the courthouse was different. Franziska had returned from Germany after a particularly long case with Interpol, and they were catching up with each other while both attempting unsuccessfully to seem uninterested in each other’s lives. Clearly both Franziska and Phoenix were poker players, and evenly matched ones. Franziska had accidentally let slip that Miles was planning to take an extended trip to Europe, and fulfil his role as Chief Prosecutor from a distance. Phoenix had then broken the cardinal rule of poker: he had let Franziska see his hand, splashed across his face in a smattering of red hearts.
With each long, angry stride towards the Chief Prosecutor’s office, Phoenix found himself even more incensed. Sure, Miles was cryptic, but had he not changed at all? He thought they had grown beyond the ‘Miles Edgeworth chooses death’ incident, the taste of which was still bitter on Phoenix’s tongue. Maybe Phoenix would never tell him how he felt, but just his presence as a friend was enough. A gentle touch on the small of his back, guiding him through the hell that was the Dark Age of the Law, and through his mid-thirties. No matter what life threw at Phoenix, Miles was behind him even if he was incomprehensible. So, what the fuck was he thinking running off to Europe without warning again?
Miles had been struggling to win his game for a while. With great shame, he had found himself relying on an old tactic: taking a recess. Recently, the evidence of his love for Phoenix had become even more damning, and impossible to ignore. He couldn’t be near the man anymore without blushing or avoiding eye contact. Miles was tired of feeling like a silly schoolgirl, so had guiltily booked the tickets to Munich and resolved not to tell Phoenix about them. What else was there to do, really?
Despite how little choice Miles felt he had in the matter, he had felt as though there was a pressure over his head the last couple of days. Unpleasantly, it reminded him far too much of his actions after the second DL-6 trial. He had been unable to complete work of any quality, and was stewing in his office when he heard the door slam and the tapping of hurried, agitated footsteps. He looked up too late, because Phoenix’s face was now far too close for comfort, his hands braced on the desk between the two men. His voice was louder, colder, than Miles had ever heard it.
“Miles, what the fuck? Were you ever gonna tell me that you’re running away again? Or are you still too much of a fucking coward?”
Phoenix’s words were a cold punch to the gut that reverberated throughout the entire room. Miles spluttered, and could only manage incoherent babbling. Phoenix was undeterred, and continued his ranting.
“I thought we were fucking friends, Miles. Friends don’t just run away without warning. You know I’d help you with anything you needed, so you either don’t view me as a friend or don’t trust me to help. And I’ve had fucking enough of it.”
Phoenix leaned back and crossed his arms, clearly expecting a response from Miles. Miles’ mouth went dry, and he felt as though he might faint.
“Phoenix, please— I didn’t mean to upset you. I… I didn’t want to be a burden.”
“So you admit that something’s going on. And why would you tell Franziska and not me?”
Another stab. Miles had let his guard down, and Phoenix was now nail-bitingly close to taking the piece of him that Miles intended to take to Europe and bury in his work.
“I… suppose I thought it was for the best. I promise I harbour no ill will towards you, nor do I wish to do you any harm, far from it—“
Phoenix thankfully interrupted Miles’ rambling. “Well, you’ve hurt me. So well done.”
“Phoenix, the last thing I would want to do is hurt you. And… my trip has absolutely nothing to do with you. I was going to tell you— it was just… always a sore subject. I’m sorry.”
Phoenix’s eyes did not soften the way that Miles had hoped so ardently that they would. Instead, he fixed his gaze into his eyes for a good five seconds of excruciating eye contact.
“Miles, you know I can tell if you’re lying. This trip has something to do with me, I know it. What did I do? And why can’t you tell me?” His voice had softened in volume if not tone, and sounded ragged.
Miles hadn’t accounted for Phoenix’s magatama. This was surely against the rules of whatever game they were playing, and had been playing for the last twenty years. Miles inhaled deeply, pinched the bridge of his nose and came to the logical conclusion: that it was over. Phoenix had brutally destroyed all of his defences, and all that was left was for him to strike the final blow and wreck Miles totally.
“I knew that you didn’t feel for me the way I feel for you. You aren’t the one who should be upset by this, Phoenix.”
Miles couldn’t meet his eyes, but saw his mouth drop open and his fingertips begin to fidget with his trouser leg, the way they always did when Phoenix was nervous. If Miles wasn’t fleeing to Europe before, he certainly was now.
But Phoenix broke the first rule of poker: he showed Edgeworth his hand.
“Wait, Miles. What… I mean, how do you feel about me?”
Just when Miles thought he couldn’t blush any more, once again Phoenix had proven him wrong.
“You are a… very dear friend. And, as of late, I suppose I have been harbouring feelings of a… somewhat romantic nature. I did not wish to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted, I suppose, some time apart to process these feelings. That should show you how much I value our friendship. I knew that if I told you, it would result in… well, the embarrassment I feel now.”
Finally, painfully, Miles looked Phoenix in the eyes. He was met not with furrowed eyebrows or a suspicious squint, but with a wide-eyed stare and a dazzling grin. Great, Miles thought. He wasn’t just going to reject him, but his feelings would also surely be a source of amusement for him. Miles buried his face in his hands and waited for Phoenix to leave his office for the last time, but instead felt Phoenix’s warm fingers folding around his own. Phoenix gently tugged his hands away from his face and held them on the desk.
“Miles, why would I be uncomfortable? This is the best news I’ve heard in… well, ever.”
Phoenix chuckled, a throaty, beautiful thing, and before Miles even had time to register his words or run away, Phoenix was pressing his lips to his. They were warmer and softer than Miles had ever imagined they would be, and he found himself deepening the kiss without thinking. He only barely sensed Phoenix’s fingers brushing against his face, coming to rest in his hair, and it only felt natural to rest his own hands on Phoenix’s waist. Miles had never been a touchy person, but he found that every time he got closer to Phoenix, new shockwaves reverberated through his entire body.
Phoenix pulled away to catch his breath, and Miles let out an involuntary groan. He’d have been embarrassed if he felt like he was still on Earth. Watching the other man’s chest rising and falling, Miles noticed that he, too, had forgotten to breathe. Phoenix pulled him into an embrace, and Miles could feel the pace of his breathing, how his body moved along with it and the sensation of Phoenix’s hot breath against his neck. Miles unconsciously synchronised his breath with Phoenix’s until it stabilised, and Phoenix chuckled once more.
“We should probably talk about this, huh?”
Miles was still speechless. All he could manage was fervently shaking his head as he nuzzled into Phoenix’s neck. He had waited twenty years to be able to do this. If this was a dream or a fleeting moment of fancy for Phoenix, Miles wanted to be as close to him as he could for as long as it—whatever it was— lasted. He could feel Phoenix smiling against his own neck, hear it even, from this distance.
“Have it your way.” Whispered Phoenix, and pulled Miles in for another kiss.
There was no need to talk, not when the game had finished and both men had won.