Chapter Text
Phoenix Wright had been in love with Miles Edgeworth for a very long time.
Phoenix did not mention this fact to anyone or let it stop him from pursuing relationships with other people, considering that he had not actually spoken to Miles Edgeworth for fifteen years. This lack of contact had not been from apathy on his part. He had tried. He had written letters for many years and spent far too much time searching for him on social media. He had even gone so far to change his entire career path in order to speak to Edgeworth one more time. Phoenix kept this information to himself. He was not out of touch with reality and knew that people would at best think his commitment to Miles a little strange and at worst, a little dangerous. He refused to consider that they would perhaps have a point.
Phoenix had grown up in a neglectful household. It was not that his parents were not around. No, they were there, but they had ignored him for the most part and were angry with him for the worst part. Phoenix had grown up with feeling lonely as the default. Those few summer months when Miles and Larry and him had spent all their time together had been a game changer for Phoenix. The class trial had cemented their friendship and Phoenix finally belonged somewhere. He had been tremendously happy.
There had been one day, a hot and sticky July afternoon with portent dark clouds above, heavy with the promise of rain. Larry had been away for the weekend visiting his father, leaving Miles and Phoenix to their own devices. Miles' dad had set up a tent for them in the small back garden of Miles' house and they were holed up inside with snacks, books and comics. Larry was usually the one that instigated games like tag or hide-and-seek. Without him, things were quieter and lazier.
They had been reading a comic about samurai ghost hunters, one of Miles' favourites that he had been so excited to share with Phoenix. Phoenix thought it was pretty dumb but kept his opinion to himself since he enjoyed listening to Miles talking about the comic more than the comic itself. Miles was launching into an explanation on how each chapter of the comic was based on a different Japanese folk tales when the clouds above gave their first rumble. Phoenix gave a sharp yelp and instinctively buried his head in his arms.
"Phoenix?" said Miles, confused at the sudden change in his friends demeanour. "What are you hiding for? It's just a ghost story."
Phoenix popped his head up, feeling thoroughly ashamed that he had reacted like that in front of Miles. The rain started to pour, thick drops that fell fast and caused little rivers to start flowing down the tent.
"I'm...s-sorry." Phoenix stuttered. Another rumble from above, louder and closer, sent him cowering again.
"You're afraid of thunderstorms?"
Phoenix heard his father voice calling him stupid and a sissy and he could not bear that Miles would think of him like that. "N-no, I'm okay." he lied from underneath his arms.
But Miles had not laughed at him or called him names. Instead, he had pressed up close to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Don't worry, I'll protect you." he said.
Under his fear Phoenix had felt a calm warmth spread through his stomach. Miles had picked up the comic and continued reading it to Phoenix, giving his notes and comments on the story. They had stayed like that throughout the passing storm. The rain quickly moved on but Miles had not moved away and Phoenix felt himself relaxing further into his side. It was a peace that he had not experienced before and he felt safe and hazy, like nothing else mattered apart from Miles and his voice.
After that, every time Phoenix was with Miles he felt the shadow of that feeling deep inside him. He wanted Miles to hold him like that again, to be pressed up against him. Phoenix never brought it up. He did not know how to ask Miles about it.
And then, Miles was gone.
It was a teacher who had been kind enough to tell Phoenix what had happened and obtain an address he could write to. So Phoenix wrote. After the first few years the frequency of his letters slowed down, since he never did receive a reply. He could not be sure Miles was reading them but it had become a soothing exercise, like writing in a diary. His letters became somewhere safe he could put the things he was afraid to tell the people around him. Phoenix imagined Miles had grown up to be handsome, sympathetic and have the right answer to any dilemma, just like when they were kids. He was sure that Miles must have some noble reason for not replying, if indeed he was receiving the letters at all. He wrote about his father's death when he was fourteen, his scramble to find somewhere to live at sixteen and his first kiss with a graceful, fair-haired boy when he was seventeen.
When he finally saw Miles Edgeworth again, in the newspapers as a 'Demon Attorney', he saw that he had been right about one thing. Miles was beautiful. He had not expected him to also look so sad or to be described as ruthless. It was clear to him that whatever had happened to Miles, the tables had turned and he now needed someone to protect him. He could not have predicted just how right he was.