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If there is one thing that Phoenix Wright is not particularly known for being, it's neat. Much to the consternation of literally everyone in his life, clutter just seems to accumulate around him no matter what he does. Pearls, Trucy, and Apollo have all, in turn, attempted to keep his office clean and yet no amount of effort they put in ever seems to make any real difference. Athena never even tried, she knows better.
And it seems, finally, that the state of the Wright Anything Agency has gotten so bad that it has attracted the Chief Prosecutor of Los Angeles’s attention.
“This is a working hazard,” Edgeworth says stiffly, hands on his hips. Phoenix only grins at him, because annoying his old friend is probably his favorite hobby.
“I think it adds character to the office,” he offers, cocking his head at a pile of Trucy’s disregarded props. Some of them are broken, some of them are things she’s outgrown, and most of them could probably be disposed of - or at least brought to their apartment instead of lingering around the office - but Phoenix can’t quite bring himself to do anything with them. He likes the office full of Trucy’s magic props, Maya’s steel samurai CDs, Edgeworth’s imported tea, and the little hints of Athena and Apollo’s continual employment.
(Sort of - Apollo is still in Khura’in and his position is always waiting for him, but with each passing year, he doubts Apollo will choose to return home. But that could just be the pessimist in him.)
“It’s a fire hazard,” Edgeworth rebuffs, hanging his coat up on the wall. Phoenix watches (very respectfully) as the Chief Prosecutor rolls his sleeves up to his elbows, flashing his elusive forearms and very expensive looking watch in the defense attorney’s direction.
“What’re you doing?” Phoenix asks, hoping he doesn’t sound like he’s discouraging this display.
“We’re going to clean this office,” Edgeworth announces with an air of finality. Unfortunately for him, Phoenix has been resistant to most of his tactics for years now.
“I thought we were getting dinner?” he points out, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s still in his court suit because he thought they’d be going out!
“Order something, you know what I like,” Edgeworth says dismissively, picking up a random stack of papers that were sprawled out over the office’s coffee table. Phoenix hopes none of those are confidential, since they’re out in the open for any of his potential clients to see. Edgeworth would never let him live it down if it was.
“Do you have a filing system?” he asks and Phoenix gestures towards the bank of filing cabinets near his junior partners’ desks.
“Apollo set it up, though, I have no idea how it works,” he says with a shrug and Edgeworth shoots him a look that tells Phoenix that he’s deeply disappointed his oldest friend.
“How do you even function?” he asks rhetorically. “The best attorney in this city and doesn’t understand the basics of filing.”
Phoenix tries not to preen at being referred to as the best. He knows that Edgeworth holds his abilities in high regard - for whatever reason - but it’s still always nice to hear. Tamping down the warmth in his chest, he says casually, “I thrive in chaos.”
Edgeworth looks up from the filing cabinets, meeting his eyes. “That would explain quite a bit about you.”
“I keep all the important files locked away, don’t worry,” he says, although his friend doesn’t look any more reassured. “These are just. . . extra papers. They give me so many extra papers.”
“Wright, the amount of paperwork I get on a daily basis is more than this, and yet my office is never this much of a disaster.”
“We don’t all have detectives to bully into cleaning for us,” Phoenix points out and Edgeworth rolls his eyes.
“Excuses, excuses, Phoenix Wright,” he says, and turns back to the filing cabinets. “Order dinner. I’ll get started on this.”
“Whatever you say, Dad,” Phoenix mutters. The Chief Prosecutor either doesn’t hear him or ignores him - both are possible considering the man in question. Regardless, he does as he’s told and orders them both dinner, gladly accepting Edgeworth’s offered debit card to pay for it. As they wait, Phoenix undresses to the same level as the other man, sleeves rolled up and jacket hung up.
He starts putting loose papers into stacks for Edgeworth to file, since he apparently figured out the system, despite the fact that Phoenix is still completely clueless about the files after spending quite a bit more time with them. Whatever, he realized a long time ago that there are things he just does not get and filing systems and organization are just some of those things.
They don’t really talk a whole lot while they work, Edgeworth focusing hard on his organizing and occasionally offering offhand comments, Phoenix trying to track down every sheet of loose paper in the office and snarking back at said comments. It’s nice, it’s comfortable, like it is every time they’re around each other. It’s a peace they had to fight hard for, over the first few awkward years where there was too much history and not enough present to really hold their friendship together, but they’ve been friends for so long now that Edgeworth just seems to fit into his world seamlessly.
It’s great. It’s more than Phoenix ever thought he’d get when he was 21 and switching majors from art to law. It’s more than the vast majority of people got with someone like Edgeworth, he’s special in their current relationship just because of how close they are, even if it’s completely platonic.
And yet, nowadays, Phoenix can’t help but feel a bit. . . dissatisfied.
He isn’t unhappy about being Edgeworth’s friend, of course - he’s ecstatic about it, just knowing the other man trusts him so wholeheartedly often brings a smile to his face and a burst of warmth in his chest. He’s happy that they’re friends. But ever since they first met face to face again, there have been idle thoughts about the softness of Edgeworth’s hair, or how his frown would feel against Phoenix’s skin, or random urges to run his hands over the other man’s shoulders or wake up next to him in the morning.
And, as he gets older, those thoughts just seem to come more often and get harder to ignore. He doesn’t entertain them very often, so he’s hesitant to really call them anything other than a slight longing for more. It doesn’t even have to mean anything - Edgeworth is perhaps the single most attractive man that Phoenix has ever known, and he’s his best friend that he trusts implicitly, cutting through all of the various trust issues Phoenix has gained over the years.
Thanks Dahlia/Iris!
He doesn’t even know if it has anything to do with Edgeworth himself! Maybe Phoenix is just getting lonely as the years stretch by and his brain is latching onto his attractive best friend out of desperation. That isn’t a happy thought, of course, it’s actually kind of really sad if he thinks about it, but it’s better than like, being in love with Miles Edgeworth. That would be crazy, crazier than anything he’s ever tried to pull in court, in fact.
When there is a knock on the door, Edgeworth looks up from the files, his glasses sliding halfway down his nose. He presses them back with a finger and glances at Phoenix, arching a perfect eyebrow and smiling, just a little.
“I suppose it’s time for a break,” he says, and Phoenix’s heart thumps painfully in his chest.
Yeah. Crazy.
“I think we’re almost done filing,” he says after they’ve set the food out across the little table in the break room. Edgeworth cleanly breaks his chopsticks and glances over at him before tucking into his stir fry.
“Good. Then we’ll move onto the clutter next.”
That’s certainly easier said than done. Once dinner is done and the takeout boxes are discarded, Edgeworth forces Phoenix to go through basically everything in the lobby that isn’t nailed down and put it in one of three categories: to stay in the office, to go to his apartment, and to be thrown away. If the first two piles are too much bigger than the third, Edgeworth shoots him a reproachful glare until Phoenix sheepishly rearranges the piles again.
Obviously anything that doesn’t belong to him or Trucy stays in the office, but his apartment is going to look like a magic shop with all of the things he’s putting in the second pile. Not that it didn't already, but he didn’t really realize how many props she kept here. Maybe it’s just left over from the years they lived in the spare bedroom, or maybe she still sees it as an extension of their home, but the office is full of little touches of hers.
Phoenix always wants to get caught in the memories of the props and sometimes Edgeworth indulges him, but for the most part his friend keeps him on task and within a couple hours, the office is cleaner than it has ever looked in recent memory. They’re moving boxes into the bedroom - now partly a storage room - when Phoenix glances up at the ceiling and freezes, Edgeworth nearly running into him.
“Oh,” Phoenix says, and turns to Edgeworth, who is shooting him a bemused look.
“What? Why are you stopping?” he asks, only looking more confused when Phoenix places the box he’s holding on the ground. Then he points up and Edgeworth follows his gesture.
“Oh,” he echoes.
Taped to the ceiling, a few months out of date, is a single sprig of mistletoe. He hadn’t even realized that Trucy had hung any in here. This part of the office is rarely trafficked by anyone but Phoenix himself, so he isn’t sure why she decided to put it here of all places, but there it was, and he and Edgeworth were standing directly under it.
The obvious answer is to ignore it - no one else is around, winter ended a couple weeks ago, there is no reason to indulge the tradition.
And yet, when Phoenix turns his gaze back onto his oldest friend, that idle thought wondering about how soft his lips are rears its ugly head.
He swallows thickly.
“Well, how about it, Edgeworth?” he says with more confidence than he feels, giving the other man a performative brow waggle. The Chief Prosecutor stares at him, disgruntled.
“How about what, Wright?” he asks, setting his box down beside Phoenix’s. He looks back up at the ceiling. “We need to get that down.”
“I have a stepladder in the spare room,” he says, shrugging. Edgeworth nods and they stand there for a minute before Phoenix realizes that he’s waiting. “Oh, I’ll go get it.”
Neither of the men are fond of heights, but there is a wild idea in Phoenix’s head, a gut pull like when he’s in court, so he volunteers to pull the sprig off the ceiling. Instead of throwing it away in the trashcan by his desk however, he holds it above his and Edgeworth’s heads.
“Well?” he says, and smirks.
“What are you doing, Wright?” Edgeworth asks, exasperation tinting his voice. It’s his ‘you’re getting on my nerves and you need to stop’ voice, but Phoenix has no fear. Okay, some fear, but he’s always trusted his gut and he doesn’t think it’ll let him down now.
Edgeworth crosses his arms and Phoenix just grins.
“We’re under the mistletoe. I’m sure you know what that means,” he teases, wagging his eyebrows again.
“Because you’re holding it above us. This is juvenile,” he says.
“Nuh uh, we were under it originally so even if I put it down now, you still owe me a kiss,” he tuts, and tosses the mistletoe into the trash can to prove his point.
“Why are you doing this?” Edgeworth asks, his voice oddly hushed. Phoenix blinks.
“It’s tradition, Edgeworth, that’s all,” he says, and isn’t sure what to do with the frown that crosses his friend’s face.
“Tradition, huh?” he says, then drops his arms. “Very well.”
Phoenix isn’t entirely sure what he expected to happen when he started pestering Edgeworth - maybe a fed up peck on his cheek, or the other man just shoving him aside to finish their cleaning. Maybe he could even see Edgeworth storming out, tired of Phoenix’s games and leaving the Agency to the whims of its disorganized master.
What he can very confidently say is that he was not expecting Edgeworth to actually kiss him. And yet, there are full, impossibly soft lips pressed against his and a wide palm warm against his jaw. Phoenix hasn’t even closed his eyes, wasn’t prepared enough for it, so he’s just staring wide eyed at Edgeworth’s incredibly close face.
It’s over before he can defeat his surprise enough to react, a chaste kiss in the end, and he finds the general sense of dissatisfaction surrounding their relationship forcing its way to the top. It feels overwhelming.
“Happy?” Edgeworth asks, looking anything but.
“No,” Phoenix says before chasing the prosecutor’s lips, guiding them back to his. Edgeworth inhales shakily, and then he’s kissing Phoenix back, one hand hesitantly curling around the loose fabric of his shirt sleeve and the other resting on his chest, while Phoenix cups the back of his oldest friend’s neck and tugs him closer by the waist.
The kiss itself isn’t necessarily anything special - the drag of two pairs of lips against each other, gentle pressure that bleeds into another kiss and another one after that - but it’s the fact that Phoenix is kissing Miles Edgeworth, the single most attractive man he’s ever known, the man he trusts more than anyone in the world, and that makes all the difference. The little burst of warmth in his chest suddenly climbs to a forest fire, burning under his skin and setting his lungs alight, joy and happiness and finally coalescing into something light and bubbly.
He ruins their kiss because he’s smiling, but it’s okay because Edgeworth is too, and he presses sloppy and open mouth kisses across the prosecutor’s cheeks and face because he doesn’t want to stop kissing him, doesn’t want to stop touching him now that he’s been allowed to. Edgeworth allows it, moving his hands to hold them loosely around Phoenix.
“Why haven’t we done this before?” Phoenix asks against his skin. Edgeworth shakes his head slightly.
“I didn’t think it would be appreciated,” he says, sounding almost shy, which is such an odd thing to think about the Chief Prosecutor feeling that Phoenix has to stop his goal of kissing every inch of Edgeworth’s face so that he can see his expression. He’s blushing, something that looks amazing against his pale skin, but he’s meeting Phoenix’s gaze straight on and he’s lost for a moment in those piercing eyes.
So lost, Phoenix doesn’t think about it when he admits, “I’ve been thinking about your lips since we were 24.”
Edgeworth’s eyes go wider than Phoenix has ever seen them. It’s fascinating, even as heat eats up his face as embarrassment sets in. He was certainly never planning on telling the other man how long his little infatuation has gone on, especially not just because a few (extraordinary, amazing) kisses was well received, and he’s pretty sure that Edgeworth is never going to speak to him again and his friendship will be over because of a single sprig of mistletoe and WHY did Trucy put it up in here of all places oh God -
“I think I’m in love with you,” Edgeworth says.
- Oh God, What?
“What?” Phoenix repeats out loud, his spiraling thoughts grinding to a crashing halt. His best friend - his best friend who might be in love with him - is the same color of suit by now and tries to pull away but Phoenix doesn’t let him.
“It’s - I don’t know for sure, I’ve never felt this way before,” Edgeworth says, looking away from Phoenix now, grabbing his arm in an old nervous gesture he hasn’t done in years. “It felt - pertinent, for you to know.”
“Pertinent,” Phoenix repeats.
“Yes,” Edgeworth says, and he sounds ashamed, and that just won’t do. “I understand if that is more than you bargained for -”
“Edgeworth, Miles, I am in love with you,” Phoenix says, his grip tightening around Edgeworth’s shoulders. “I’ve been trying not to be because you’re my best friend, but I am, I really am.”
Edgeworth looks shocked again, but Phoenix can feel him relax under his hands. He blinks at the defense attorney a few times, his face slack with surprise, but then he smiles, something small and tentative and hopeful, and so, so beautiful that Phoenix has to kiss him again. And Edgeworth kisses back, his arms wrapping around him again, and Phoenix runs his fingers through those silver locks and finally discovers that they’re as soft as he’s always thought that they were.
“I love you,” he says again, against Edgeworth’s lips between kisses.
“I love you too,” Edgeworth says back, and he has to tamp down his grin again so he can keep kissing him, because now that he’s started he isn’t sure that he ever wants to stop.
And it occurs to Phoenix, finally, that all of the thoughts and idle urges he’s had over the years are possible now. He could sleep next to the love of his life and wake up with him, and eat breakfast and argue over little inconsequential things as they get ready in the morning. Edgeworth can finally be an official paternal role in Trucy’s life instead of the pseudo-parent that he’s been all of these years and it’s probably all way, way too early to be thinking like this because they just kissed, just confessed they were even interested in each other in the first place, but he never thought he’d get this far and he can’t stop the hope now.
“We should probably discuss this,” Edgeworth says at one point and Phoenix hums.
“Probably,” he agrees, and kisses him again. “We have time.”
“Yes,” Edgeworth says, and smiles that beautiful, wonderful smile again. “I suppose we do.”