Archive of Our Own

The office rarely got any mail that wasn’t bills or spam, so the appearance of a rather elegant envelope piqued Phoenix’s interest.

Perhaps this is some weird cry for help , he thought as he carefully opened the letter. We could really use the work …

Inside, however, was not a job offer, but instead graceful lettering on a thick, smooth sheet of paper. The whole thing just looked expensive, and if Phoenix wasn’t intrigued by then, he certainly was now. He unfolded the paper, and upon scanning it, immediately quirked an eyebrow.

On it, was carefully written:

One word is too often profaned

For me to profane it,

One feeling too falsely disdained

For thee to disdain it;

One hope is too like despair

For prudence to smother,

And pity from thee more dear

Than that from another.

I can give not what men call love,

But wilt thou accept not

The worship the heart lifts above

And the Heavens reject not,—

The desire of the moth for the star,

Of the night for the morrow,

The devotion to something afar

From the sphere of our sorrow?

(“To —”, Percy Shelley)

All he could do for a moment was stare. Is this…?

His wasted studies in Shakespearen drama had greatly expanded his vocabulary, which now helped him understand the general gist of the poem: it was one of love, but more than that, one of hopeless devotion. “The desire of the moth for the star”, huh? It was a tad dramatic, but although Phoenix wasn’t a big poetry guy, he assumed most of them were. He did have to admit, it was well written, and had made him feel… something. He wasn’t sure, because his dominant emotion was confusion.

Someone went out of their way to handwrite a poem on fancy, expensive paper for me. A pretty lovely one, too. There was no name, besides his own, on the letter, nor a return address. No stamps, either, which probably meant it had been hand delivered.

This is insane, he thought, before reading it over again. “What men call love”... isn’t that sad. The begs for pity, too. He frowned, before his eyes fell on the tag at the end. While the name of the poem was weird, he did vaguely recognize the author. He didn’t quite remember from what , but hey, if he knew him he was probably popular, right?

Just then, he came up with an explanation for it. Someone’s created some poem delivery service, just trying to spread art throughout the neighborhood or something. Isn’t that nice. It didn’t explain why the poem was so… like that , or the careful effort, or really much of anything, but it worked enough for him. He was still a little embarrassed by its presence, but didn’t want to throw it out, so he carefully slipped it into the drawer of his desk, down low enough that Maya wouldn’t accidentally stumble into it.

Wasn’t that nice. Time to go through the bills…

The next day was uneventful, but the day after that, another poem appeared. It was in the same style envelope, same graceful etching of his name, same lack of addresses and stamps… the only difference, of course, was the poem inside.

Again carefully written in cursive, this one was strangely short, in fact it seemed as if the writer had intended to write more, then suddenly stopped.

The text was:

Never the time and the place

And the loved one all together!

This path—how soft to pace!

This May—what magic weather!

Where is the loved one's face?

In a dream that loved one's face meets mine,

But the house is narrow, the place is bleak

Where, outside, rain and wind combine

With a furtive ear, if I strive to speak,

With a hostile eye at my flushing cheek,

With a malice that marks each word, each sign!

–

(“Never the Time and the Place”, Robert Browning)

This one he struggled more to understand it, and it did seem to abruptly end. But, it also made him… sad. The first line had hit him the hardest: “ Never the time and the place ”. It had made him think of many things, but most prominently…

He sighed, and shook his head. What’s up with all the sad poems? Really, I would be spreading positivity or something. He tried to simply put this one away, too, but after a moment away from it he pulled it out to read again.

It really never is the time OR the place , he reflected gloomily, before shifting his attention away from the first line. Upon rereading, it made more sense to him, and this time he was struck by the longing that was characteristic of both this one and the poem that had come before it. This would’ve really hit me if I had read it a few years ago, when I really was missing a face…

After a moment of introspection, he finally fully focused on the weird ending. There was a mark of writing beginning that had just abruptly ended. Maybe there’s more?

He turned on his computer, and though he still found navigating it a bit tough, he googled the offered name and author of the poem. He was given a text of the poem, which he checked, and sure enough, there was more.

O enemy sly and serpentine,

Uncoil thee from the waking man!

Do I hold the Past

Thus firm and fast

Yet doubt if the Future hold I can?

This path so soft to pace shall lead

Thro' the magic of May to herself indeed!

Or narrow if needs the house must be,

Outside are the storms and strangers: we

Oh, close, safe, warm sleep I and she,—

I and she!

He couldn’t understand why this part was excluded, seeing as how it was all rather innocuous to him. Maybe it didn’t fit the sender’s message…? He wondered, before losing that thought. If it is just some random person sending out poems, I doubt there is a “message”. But then again, maybe it isn’t random…

That idea, though, was so out of place to Phoenix that he didn’t give it any more attention. Instead, he merely read the excluded portion again, drinking it in.

He was about to do some deep thinking on the value of remembering the past when suddenly the door slammed open, and his assistant walked in.

“Nick!! You’re on the computer?? I never thought I’d see the day! What’re you doing?”

She began to walk towards him, and some weird motive drove him to try and close the tab. He couldn’t figure it out before she came up to him, however, leaving him somewhat ashamed.

“Oo, what’re you trying to hide from me? You’re not a teenager, Nick, I doubt–” She stopped, however, when she saw the computer. “...Why are you looking at poetry.”

“I’ve found a love for the art form. I was an art major, you know.”

“Yeah, a drama major. Not a… well, all this major.” She looked at it again, then back to him. “You just don’t really strike me as the type.”

“Wow, thanks, Maya. Real kind. Maybe that’s why I’m reading it. I’m trying to expand my palate so I can avoid these types of insults.”

“It wasn’t an insult, I’m just–” She stopped again, then, and slowly looked down at the desk. “ Oh my gosh– ”

He snatched the piece of nice, expensive paper off the desk before she could fully read it, and slid it away from her.

“Why do you always have to be so nosy…”

“ Nick , was that– is someone sending you poetry ?? Sad, sappy poetry??” She looked at him with her mouth agape, and against his best interest his face reddened.

“It’s not just me , I’m pretty sure it's like a… community thing.”

“A community thing of soppy, longing poetry, sure.” She rolled her eyes. “Dude, come on. Be reasonable. Would you send this sort of thing out to everyone? Or would you pick some goofy poem about dogs or something?”

“...Probably the latter. But! I don’t know what’s going on in this person’s head. Maybe they really like … this type of writing, and want to share it.”

“It’s weird, old poetry too. Look at those words. I don’t think they’re trying to get anyone into poetry. You’d pick something nice and friendly for that. This is like… beginner hostile.”

“Maybe they just think everyone’s really good at reading poetry. We all have our biases.”

She looked at him with a blank expression, then crossed her arms. “Have there been any others?”

“Well, only one before… they’re both pretty nice. Once you get past the whole despairing part.” To prove his point, and also without thinking, he took out the other poem from the drawer, and again Maya’s jaw dropped.

“You kept it?! Nick, you’re such a romantic . What the hell.” She grabbed it, and began to scan it.

“I’m not– again, I just thought it was nice .” His face felt extremely warm, and to hide it he kept his gaze away from the girl.

“Wait, this is like handwritten . And the paper is so… thick. This stuff isn’t cheap, you know.”

“I do know. That’s another reason I kept it. It felt wrong not to.”

“Yeah, I’m glad you didn’t throw it out. This is crazy. There’s no way it’s just some guy passing out poetry for the block. You’d just print out a poem from Google Docs onto some normal printer paper for that. This took effort . Nick…” She looked at him with a smile so wide, he began to regret all of his life decisions. “I think you have a secret admirer .”

“We aren’t in middle school, Maya, let’s be realistic.” He crossed his arms, but, well, he was beginning to see where she was coming from.

“It totally is realistic. Just look at these poems. Read them for like, a second.” She grabbed the paper he had slid away from her, and began to dramatically read lines. “‘ Where is the loved one's face?’ Oh, man, this one’s a doozy. ‘ In a dream that loved one's face meets mine– ’” He snatched it from her again, causing her to giggle. “Oh my gosh, you’re totally trying to hide them. You really are a romantic.”

“I just– ugh .” A lawyer doesn’t just give up in the middle of an argument, Phoenix. “I’m tired of you shaming the wonderful craft that is poetry. That is all.”

“Yeah, sure, that’s all.” She looked at the remaining paper again, and grinned. “Hey, you know, there’s a certain guy we know who talks just like these poems, and is totally angsty enough to send this sort of–”

“I’m going to cut you off there, Maya,” he interrupted, incapable of hearing another word. There’s no way he would– he’s not that type of person… or is he?

“Just think about it, Nick. I know you want to. You were probably imagining him smiling at you or something the entire time you were reading them.” When he failed to respond, and only sank further into the desk chair, she grinned. “See? Exactly what I’m talking about. Oh my gosh, you guys are perfect for each other, you’re both so– I don’t want to say ‘repressed’, but you certainly act like it.”

“Maya, again, there’s no way he’s the sender. He has, like, a job and stuff.”

“So do you , and here you are lamenting over 200 year old words.”

“I wasn’t lamenting , and you and I both know he has like, triple the job I do.”

“Yeah, you don’t really do much. Still, though, point stands.”

“I still think it’s just some random person being nice,” Phoenix argued, though really he was starting to think otherwise.

“If that’s what you want to believe, then do so. I’m going to go watch Steel Samurai reruns. You can continue… being you.”

On the clock, two days later, another envelope appeared. Phoenix had, embarrassingly, checked his mail pretty expectantly. Upon seeing the envelope, he quickly breathed in, and didn’t exhale until he opened it:

I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,   

or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:   

I love you as one loves certain obscure things,   

secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries   

the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,   

and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose   

from the earth lives dimly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,   

I love you directly without problems or pride:

I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love,

except in this form in which I am not nor are you,   

so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,   

so close that your eyes close with my dreams.

(“One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII”, Pablo Neruda, translated)

Phoenix blinked slowly while reading it. This poem seemed to be… happier? With that, however, it still shared common themes with the ones that had come before it. “I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love” – it feels like the first poem, an apology of sorts. Not really one in this case, though. This is sort of… acceptance. He looked at it again, also noticing how… thankful it sounded. Reading it gave him a weird feeling in his gut, that weighed heavy yet almost unnoticeably. It was the feeling he got with soft glances, small words of care, slight brushes of fingers…

Maya was right, I am a romantic. He sighed, then covered his eyes with the paper. This action, however, focused his eyes on “translated”. It’s not the original.

Curiosity, and also perhaps a small love for the English version, drove him to search up the title, adding “original” at the end. This gave him a poem in Spanish, which to his embarrassment was something he struggled to understand. As a child he had understood it near fluently (though his speaking skills left lots to be desired), but years without practice had essentially driven it out of him. Still though, he tried, and could still appreciate the beauty in it.

No te amo como si fueras rosa de sal, topacio

o flecha de claveles que propagan el fuego:

te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras,

secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma.

Te amo como la planta que no florece y lleva

dentro de sí, escondida, la luz de aquellas flores,

y gracias a tu amor vive oscuro en mi cuerpo

el apretado aroma que ascendió de la tierra.

Te amo sin saber cómo, ni cuándo, ni de dónde,

te amo directamente sin problemas ni orgullo:

así te amo porque no sé amar de otra manera,

sino así de este modo en que no soy ni eres,

tan cerca que tu mano sobre mi pecho es mía,

tan cerca que se cierran tus ojos con mi sueño.

Phoenix couldn’t help but wonder about the background of this poem being sent to him, whether the sender knew the specifics of his relationship with the Spanish language, or if they had just grabbed it off some random site online without a thought. They did go out of their way to add “translated” at the end… Maybe he was just overthinking it all, and was trying to overly tie it to himself. Still, he supposed it was nice to feel centered, that someone was, as Maya suggested, sending him love poems and being his middle-school style “secret admirer”.

That, however, brought forward the question of who . Now, Maya had had an idea, but that was one that Phoenix refused to believe in. It made him feel–not delusional , but something of the like, and after so many head injuries he wanted to at least pretend he still had his wits. Not liking any other potential option, he decided to just abandon the idea altogether, returning to his previous decision that it was purely random.

He still liked the concept, though.

He slipped this one in with the other two. He still kept them hidden, although Maya did technically know of their existence. He had always been a fan of keeping secrets, and he guessed at this point it was becoming compulsive. No harm in it, though, it was just part of the experience.

He closed the tab on his computer, and was about to turn it off, when he suddenly heard a knock on the door. Knock, singular… Phoenix thought, suddenly stiffening up.

“Come in!” He shouted, cleaning his desk up a bit. The door opened, and in walked Miles Edgeworth, with a semi-perplexed look.

“Wright,” was all he said, crossing his arms.

“...Edgeworth?” Phoenix was mildly weirded out, but, well, he couldn’t complain about an Edgeworth visit.

“You need to tell your assistant to calm down on the following . I don’t want to call it stalking, but it’s starting to feel like it. It seems as if she’s always 3 steps behind me.”

Phoenix put his head in his hands, sighing. “Maya…”

“I exited the prosecutor’s office to walk to my car, and I saw a sudden flash of purple in the edge of my vision. This has happened multiple times in the past day. I thought I was going insane until just a bit ago, when she was a mere second too late and I caught her.” The corner of Edgeworth’s mouth quirked up, betraying that he wasn’t truly mad at her. “Am I being investigated? Has there been another murder connected to me that I’ve managed to avoid?”

“No, she’s just–” I can’t explain the letters without sounding crazy. “–being Maya , I guess. You know her. She always has her own thing going on. Maybe you pissed her off with some Samurai opinion.”

“ Nrgk –” Edgeworth stuttered, until seemingly remembering his fanboying was general knowledge in the Wright office. He bowed his head, and took a deep breath. “Perhaps. Though I can not think of what .” He looked up again, this time staring directly at Phoenix. “You know, I just realized, you’re actually sitting at the computer desk of the office. I don’t reckon I’ve ever seen you do that.”

“Maybe you’re only ever here at odd times,” Phoenix suggested, attempting to reason. Edgeworth raised one eyebrow.

“I’m here often . I’ve visited at all times of day. I have never seen you sitting there.”

“Maybe you’re just unlucky.”

“That I am, but not to that level.” He shook his head, then looked away again. “Anyway, if that girl provides reasoning for her atypical behavior, please do inform me. I’ve become properly creeped out.”

Phoenix knew exactly why Maya was acting weirdly, but for the sake of everybody involved, he simply nodded. “Yeah, I will, see you man.”

That was, however, when he made a mistake. In an attempt to seem casual, he rested his head on his hand, but in order to do that, his elbow went on the desk. This, unfortunately, was where his keyboard was, and something he hit caused his tab to come back up, full brightness.

Edgeworth looked slowly at the screen, then back to Phoenix, eyebrows all the way up. His eyes were big, and filled with… something . “...Poetry. I was… unaware that you were a fan.”

“Oh, um–” How do I cover myself… “I’m not . Look, it’s in Spanish. I’m just trying to… relearn the language, you know? Via literature.”

Edgeworth’s face went through around 12 emotions from all ends of the spectrum, before settling on slightly bemused, though there was still that odd look in his eyes. “If my memory doesn’t fail me, you barely ever knew Spanish. ‘Relearn’ is perhaps a bit too strong for your situation.”

Phoenix glared at him, then closed the tab again. “Maybe I learned more after you left. You don’t know. I would appreciate it if you were to spare me from the slander .”

“Truth is not slander, Wright, though I do apologize. I… applaud the effort. Though poetry is an odd way to go at it.” He crossed his arms, and lifted his chin in his typical courtroom matter.

“I have my methods, Edgeworth, you just have to trust the process.” He hoped the warmth he felt on his face was just the room, and that he was not embarrassing himself more than he already had. “Well, I’ll talk to Maya. And… continue my lessons. It was nice seeing you.”

Edgeworth, surprisingly, met the smile Phoenix gave him. “It was for me, too. Goodbye, Wright. And yes… do continue your studies.” After flashing his 20th odd expression of the day, Edgeworth left, in the same manner as he had entered. Phoenix was left staring blankly at the computer, attempting to reconcile with all that had just occurred.

Okay, step one, I need Maya to… not do all that. I appreciate the effort, I guess, but I would really rather she avoided the whole “stalking” angle. Step two…

He stared blankly at his computer again. I don’t know. Figure out something.

Well at least step one was easy enough. Maya wasn’t deaf to reason, after all. I’ll talk to her tomorrow, I should do work or something .

Phoenix opened up a random case file next to him, and pretended to be engrossed in it. Still, however, his eyes kept lingering to the poem, and his heart stayed on the sentiments he carried with it.

“Nick, look, I was just trying to see if he was leaving letters at the door. Obviously he didn’t.” Maya rolled her eyes, and slouched on the couch. She seemed rather uninterested by Phoenix’s appeal to morals.

“Well, for one, those letters are there first thing in the morning, so obviously whoever’s leaving them isn’t waltzing around at noon . Two, I’m sure there’s better ways to do that than stalking . Three, at least try not to get caught.” He let out an exasperated sigh, though he wasn’t really mad at Maya. He couldn’t be. He was more… annoyed at the situation.

Maya clearly knew where Phoenix’s priorities lay, and put her hands up. “Hey, look I was trying not to get caught. Your man’s just oddly perceptive.” Phoenix tried not to respond to the ‘your man’ comment, though his unaffected-just-disappointed facade did waver. Maya smiled, though he wasn’t sure if it was in response to him or just her usual cheery demeanor. “ And I was just using my investigative skills. That’s not stalking. I was just doing my job.”

“You barely have a job, Maya.”

“I’m your main assistant, Nick, and also, you know, the heir to the position of Master of the Kurain Channeling Technique . You should be grateful I’m helping you out.” She stuck out her tongue, and Phoenix did have to admit that he felt a little bad.

“Yeah, I know, I’m sorry, Maya… but like, at least tone it down a little . For the sake of both of us.”

“ Fine .” Phoenix thought she was going to leave it at that, but then a slightly mischievous smile spread across her face. “ However , I did gather some intriguing information.”

Despite knowing that it would be best to stay out of this, Phoenix did have to admit he was a bit interested. He tried to maintain a neutral face, not saying anything to either persuade or dissuade her. She took this as a sign, and carried on.
“He has, like, five calligraphy sets in his office. They’re all over the place. Pens, quills, parchment, you name it. All I’m saying is, he has the means…” She grinned again, before turning. “I’ll leave it at that. You can believe what you want, but, I mean, your whole job is acknowledging evidence and building a case off of it… perhaps it would be wise to do so here.”

“I think stalking Edgeworth has impacted the way you talk,” Phoenix remarked, choosing not to address her ‘evidence’ for now. She merely shrugged then left, leaving him alone again.

Calligraphy sets, huh? I’m sure they’re not that rare… Still, as much as he wanted to deny the notion, his heart leapt at the mere possibility of it being him .

I’m a delusional mess , Phoenix sighed. A mess who’ll have to wait and see.

Another nice letter, a beautiful etching of his name on the front. When he found it, he held it and looked at it softly, standing there for a solid 5 minutes. When he came to his senses, he opened it, 

I think of thee!—my thoughts do twine and bud

About thee, as wild vines, about a tree,

Put out broad leaves, and soon there’s nought to see

Except the straggling green which hides the wood.

Yet, O my palm-tree, be it understood

I will not have my thoughts instead of thee

Who art dearer, better! Rather, instantly

Renew thy presence; as a strong tree should,

Rustle thy boughs and set thy trunk all bare,

And let these bands of greenery which insphere thee

Drop heavily down,—burst, shattered, everywhere!

Because, in this deep joy to see and hear thee

And breathe within thy shadow a new air,

I do not think of thee—I am too near thee.

(“Sonnet 29”, Elizabeth Barrett Browning)

P.S. Contrary to the poem, I do “think of thee”, even when near. I enjoy the sentiments of it, however, and I do hope you love it too. 

Even before reading that certain postscript, Phoenix wore a stupidly wide grin. It was just so… sweet. His careful reading of each letter, admiration of every brush stroke didn’t help either. All he could think about was the care , the thought that went into it. Even without knowing the sender’s identity, he loved them for the detail, admired them for the art of it all.

But then he read the postscript.

Oh. It’s personal, was his first thought, followed by a rereading, and another rereading, and another after that. He didn’t even notice that there was a very clear ink stain that blotted the page after the postscript until his fifth reread, and by then he didn’t even care about a tiny mess. The sender knows me and thinks of me. With careful consideration. Huh.

After another moment, a truly horrifying idea befell him: Maya was right .

He groaned, and set it down. He inhaled and exhaled, then picked it up again, rereading it. Well. It’s clearly a love poem. I mean, even excluding the ending. It’s a beautiful poem too, I suppose I also “enjoy the sentiments of it”. And, yeah, there’s the whole p.s. part. They think of me. He smiled softly. Romantic loser, or whatever else Maya wants to call me, doesn’t matter. It’s so… lovely.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t even notice his phone’s buzzing. He probably reread the poem 10 whole times, slowly, before he even felt something . When he finally pulled himself away, he saw he had 12 missed calls from Maya. Holy shit , Phoenix thought, and scrambled to call her back.

“NICK!!” A loud voice screamed at him, forcing him to pull his phone away from his ear. “Where ARE you?? The trial starts in like, 5 minutes!”
“Oh my god, the trial! Shoot, Maya, just–” He scrambled around for his papers, and grabbed his briefcase. “Cover for me!! I’ll be there super quick, I promise.” 

After a quick grumble, Maya hung up, and Phoenix leapt up from his chair. He took one final glance at the poem, before deciding to grab it and add it to the court record. You never know when it’ll be useful, I guess. Let’s not think about that further. He ran out of the room, nearly forgetting to lock the office.

“You’re so lucky I’m both an amazing friend and a quick thinker, Nick. You owe me like… 3 burgers and a bowl of ramen.”

“Yes, yes, I do. Thank you so much.” Phoenix smiled, still out of breath from peddling to the courtroom as fast as his near-ancient bicycle would allow. He had been surprised that upon his entrance, he didn’t receive a single comment on his tardiness, until he had seen Maya’s face.

“Now that the defense’s co-counsel has finished her… speech –” Phoenix shot a questioning look at Maya, to which she merely shrugged. I did what I had to , she mouthed, and Phoenix was too impressed to reply. “–We can get on with the trial. Court is now in session for the trial of Mr. Penn Byron.”

“Your Honor, the prosecution is ready,” came a very familiar voice, causing Phoenix to embarrassingly realize for the first time that he was going against Edgeworth in this case. I NEED to start reading my case packets, Phoenix thought, before reabsorbing himself in the trial. Right on time, too, as he almost forgot to introduce himself.

“Good morning, Your Honor, Phoenix Wright on behalf of the defendant, Penn Byron. Ready to go.” He let out an awkward smile, and got a weird look from the judge.

“‘ The defense is ready, Your Honor ’ would have sufficed, but I appreciate the detail, Mr. Wright.” God I’m all over the place. Let’s hope I can get it together, for the sake of my client, at the very least. “Anyway, Mr. Edgeworth, your opening statement, please.”

“Ah, yes, of course. Your Honor. We are here today because the defendant, Penn Byron, is guilty of first degree murder, beyond a reasonable doubt. We have a clear witness to attest to that, who will prove that Mr. Byron stabbed his arch nemesis, Par Chament, with the victim’s own calligraphy pen!”

“A calligraphy pen? How atypical!” the Judge gasped, while Phoenix’s eyes got extremely wide. Oh, this is a coincidence of the ages. A quick look at Maya confirmed that she was thinking the same thing. “Well then, Mr. Edgeworth, please call up this witness.”

After a moment, a nervous looking man with medium length curly hair and a strange beard got up on the witness stand. He adjusted his glasses, and awkwardly glanced about the court.

“...Witness,” Edgeworth began, causing the man to dart his attention to the prosecutor. He immediately straightened up, and smirked at him. Even Edgeworth seemed a bit taken aback by the man’s demeanor, but after a moment he returned to his usual script. “Please state your name and occupation.”

“Good morrow sir, or more accurate sirs . Mine own name is Shane Pear, a name well known in the writing ordinary. Thou couldst label me a mere ‘author’, but I fear ‘creator’ is the true correct term. For I am on a level rarely seen ere, and what I writeth art not books, but worlds . I'm sure thee understandeth, valorous sir, for thou hath the appearance of one rather well versed.” He smiled at the end, and Phoenix was again grateful for his studies in Shakespearean drama, though even then he only caught like half of his sentence. Edgeworth did not seem as perplexed, but an unamused expression did appear on his face.

“You witnessed the murder as it occurred, correct?”

“Aye, I did! ‘Twas horrible! Sirrah Byron…” The man shook his head, his hair moving more than his head did. “The poor gentleman Charment, gone!”

“Let’s hear what this… intriguing man can tell us about the crime,” stated the Judge, banging his gavel to quiet some awkward murmurs from the crowd. ‘ Why are there never any normal people in this court?’ is probably what they’re all thinking, and I am too, honestly , Phoenix thought, frowning.

“Very well! ‘Twas a simple summer morning, right after the sun had risen, when I wast walking on mine own normal route to experience the beauty of nature . Suddenly, I encountered quite the coil! That mad Byron fellow, with whom I am quite familiar due to mine own field of work, wast yelling quite loudly at the poor fellow Charment. At once, Byron drew his vile weapon, and honest Charment did urge peace. I attempt’d to interrupt: ‘Villain!’ I did yell, ‘Prithee, sir, forbear this outrage! Hold!’, but alas, beshrew me, my pleas fell to ears deaf. That ill Byron, he tilts with piercing steel at unfortunate Charment, and hit the life of the man. Lapsed, I did scream quite loud, but nay! Byron ran, and Charment was dead.” Shane Pear shook his head again, and sighed.

“Hm…” started the Judge, though it seemed as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say. “...Well. I believe the witness was quite clear.” Was he? “Mr. Byron and Mr. Charment were in a heated argument, which led Mr. Byron to murder the other man. Seems rather simple to me. But, Mr. Wright, please begin your cross-examination.”

“Erm… alright.” Phoenix was honestly lost for words, but he decided to just go for his foolproof strategy of faking it as he went. Really should’ve spent more time studying the case, and less time analyzing poetry . He had the witness go over his testimony again, when suddenly an idea struck him.

“Hold it! Mr. Pear, you claimed Mr. Byron used a ‘vile weapon’. Could you clarify what that ‘vile weapon’ was?”

“Objection!” Phoenix darted his head across the courtroom, where he saw an annoyed looking Edgeworth. “Wright, read the autopsy. The weapon was the calligraphy pen.”

“I’m aware, Edgeworth, I would just like more information.” He smiled at the man, whose face failed to change. The judge, however, seemed intrigued.

“Nothing wrong with that, Mr. Wright. Objection overruled, please continue.”

Shane Pear had seemingly out of nowhere returned to the cowering man he was when he entered court. I’d say this guy has lost all his marbles, but I doubt he had any in the first place. “Oh, erm, aye. ‘Twas the pen of the villain, made of steel. Bless the mark, to use such a beautiful tool for such a horrible purpose.”

“I struggle to understand how such a simple pen could kill somebody,” Phoenix retorted, crossing his arms. The witness, though, merely rolled his eyes.

“Aye, thou didst have the appearance of one who has not so much brain as ear-wax. The gentleman Charment wast struck multiple times in the neck by the steel nib, sharpen’d quite horrifically. Such blows couldst strike down near any sir.”

“How do we know it was that sharp?”

“Ah, I can answer that inquiry,” came Edgeworth’s voice, and when Phoenix looked over he was holding up a piece of paper. “Here’s a letter the murderer wrote right after the crime, found thrown on the floor near the body. The meaning of the words on it are not interesting, just some flowery lines on nature and the like. It’s the letters by themselves that spark intrigue. We know the writer was the murderer because there’s traces of the victim’s blood in the ink, suggesting that it was written using the murder weapon. If I turn it around, you can see that the pen cut through the paper multiple times. That would be expected of a normal paper, perhaps, but this is extremely expensive, hand-made, thick cotton paper. It would easily withstand a normal pen with no issue. Due to the cuts, we can assume that this pen was noticeably sharper than usual. It isn’t too much of a stretch to say that a pen in such a state could do severe damage to something as vulnerable as one’s neck.”

Phoenix supposed that made sense, but looking at the paper, he noticed something… odd. “Could I see that letter for a moment?”

Edgeworth gave him an extremely odd look, then shrugged. “Do as you please.”

When Phoenix got hold of the paper, his suspicions were confirmed. There were multiple ink splotches, most of which were then smeared further, presumably by the writer’s hand. “Look at these blots. I’m no calligraphy expert, but isn’t this caused by lots of pressure? So maybe the guy was just writing extra hard.”

“I’ve researched calligraphy heavily… for this case, of course–” Edgeworth coughed once, then uttered a quick apology. “–and in this regard you are correct, Wright. However, two things can be true at once. I’m sure the writer was going ‘extra hard’, probably due to the strain they felt after the murder. But that alone would not cut through paper this thick. The nib was also sharpened, and that was the cause.” Edgeworth smirked and tapped his head, before raising an eyebrow. “Why are you so curious about the pen, anyway?”

“It’s not just that… look at how smeared the ink blots are. Whoever was writing could not keep their hand out of the way. It just seems so… amateur-ish to me. And isn’t Mr. Byron a professional? How could he make such simple mistakes?”

“Easy. He felt strained, as mentioned. Murder takes a toll on a person. It’s not a stretch to say that after such an act, one would not be focused on the fine art of calligraphy.”

“I guess…” Phoenix conceded, ready to give up on this line of questioning. He felt a nudge to his side, however, and when he looked over Maya nodded her head at the paper.

“The ink, Nick,” she whispered, beckoning him closer. “That’s Baystate Blue. I’ve had to use it before in the village. It takes forever to get off of skin. If this guy was smudging it all over his hand, shouldn’t it still be there?”

“Wait, you’re right,” Phoenix gasped, and re-investigated the paper. The ink was a very vivid blue color, and those smudges did seem serious. It also looks somewhat familiar. Is it a common brand? I can wonder about that later, actually, I have a case to make…

“I always am!” Maya smiled, then shooed him with her hands, beckoned him to speak. I hope this doesn’t make me sound really stupid… 

“Erm, is anyone in court familiar with the brand Baystate Blue?” Phoenix questioned, not quite sure how to raise his point. A few murmurs came from the crowd, and Edgeworth tilted his head.

“I’ve used it in the past, actually. For my, erm, legal writings and such. Why do you ask?”

“Take another look at the paper. Look at the color of the writing.”

The letter was passed to Edgeworth, who furrowed his brows as he investigated it. “Yes, it is quite blue. In fact, I would go as far as to say it’s… Baystate Blue.”

“And what is Baystate Blue famous for?” Phoenix asked, suddenly feeling quite confident in his line of questioning. 

“Its heavy ability to stain. Wait…” Edgeworth’s eyes widened as he seemingly realized what point Phoenix was trying to make. He set the paper on his stand, and turned slowly to the defendant. “You don’t think…”

“Yes. Whoever wrote this paper should still have the stains on them, seeing as how heavily they smudged this paper. I mean, the murder was only 2 days ago, it should still be there, though maybe a bit faded.”

“I see…” muttered the Judge, banging his gavel. “Could somebody investigate the hands of the defendant?”

The bailiff scurried over to the defendant stand, and carefully took Penn Byron’s hands, looking them up and down. After a minute, they turned back to the judge and shook their head. “Nothing.”

“How intriguing!” the Judge gasped, eyes widening. At the prosecutor’s bench, Edgeworth did his typical shocked expression, then slammed his fist on the table.

“Objection!” he shouted, staring at the retreating bailiff. “All other evidence does point to the defendant. Perhaps Mr. Byron just had a long, deep scrub. Or–”

“Wait, Mr. Edgeworth! Could you… um, inform the court of your dominant writing hand?”

Edgeworth’s eyebrows shot up, clearly surprised. Phoenix wasn’t quite sure what the Judge was on about either, and so didn’t say anything. “...I am ambidextrous, but tend to use my left hand. Why do you ask?”

The Judge didn’t say anything at first, and simply stared at the prosecutor’s bench. Phoenix followed the Judge’s gaze, when suddenly he realized why the judge was so shocked. The knuckles on Edgeworth’s left hand were bright blue, something revealed quite obviously when he made a fist. Edgeworth looked down, too, and shot back.

“I- This… is unrelated! I swear it!” The man’s face was noticeably red, and he was glancing about quite frantically. “You are not accusing me of being the murderer, are you? I thought we were done with that…”

“Could you inform the court, then, of how you got said stains? Have you been taking up calligraphy?”

“...As a matter of fact, I have,” the man admitted, somewhat sheepishly. Phoenix was then reminded of Maya’s mentions of the various sets in Edgeworth’s office. That was before I even took this case, actually. If she had seen them the day before, that was before the murder was even committed. Clearly he’s had them for a bit, for… hobby? I’m not sure actually – An image of the letter he had shoved in his bag flashed in his mind, but he quickly shook it out. He is innocent, I mean, not that I ever thought he wasn’t… But how do I bring that up, without mentioning Maya’s… unfortunate investigating techniques? “This is just a coincidence. A very unfortunate coincidence. You see, I started using that ink very recently, and was unaware of how… potent it was. Thus, I accidentally laid my hand on it after writing, and then next thing I knew, that horrible blue was all over where my hand made contact.”

“And what exactly have you been doing, using this ink? Do you not have computers in the Prosecutor’s Office?”

“We do, actually. I just… I think it’s more traditional to write letters. Shows more respect to the recipient and what not.” Edgeworth huffed, and looked to the side, still red. It’s impossible for him to be the murderer. Why is the Judge egging him on so much? On second thought, actually, that man does love drama…

“Hm, I’ve never received any letters, only emails. Typical…” the Judge sighed, clearly a bit disappointed. “Still, you don’t really have evidence to prove your case, do you? So, I mean…”

“ Ngh– Your Honor, you can not, honestly, in good faith , actually believe I murdered this man with whom I share no connection at all, other than perhaps a like of writing,” Edgeworth responded, sounding as flabbergasted as possible. He accented each word with a fist slam, ensuring that he kept the attention of the court. “I mean, let’s be reasonable!”

“If I may interject,” Phoenix added before the Judge could speak, “I know it’s in the best interest of the defense to pursue anyone who’s not the defendant, but Edgeworth? It just isn’t possible. Innocent until proven guilty, and the only evidence against him is the ink blot on his hand, easily explainable.” Plus, being his defense attorney once was enough for me…

“I do not want to directly accuse Mr. Edgeworth,” started the Judge, clearly a bit taken aback by the double pleas from both sides, “but, I have a responsibility to pursue justice. For that reason, it may be best for us to temporarily keep him in holding until we fully investigate him and prove his innocence. Unless, Mr. Edgeworth, you have evidence to provide you an alibi for when the murder occurred?”

“Well, not on me at the moment , but–” Edgeworth was clearly somewhat panicking, obviously not too happy with the idea of having to again stay, even temporarily, in the place where he had suffered some of the worst few days of his life. Phoenix still remembered how he had looked whenever he checked in with him as his attorney, when he looked so hopeless and pained that even thinking of his expressions still saddened Phoenix. There’s gotta be something I can do –

The letter , Phoenix suddenly remembered, eyes widening. He looked over at Maya, who was clearly thinking the same thing. She nodded slowly at him, and he pulled the letter out of his bag, looking down at it. If it wasn’t him who wrote it, this is going to be awful. Not only will I be penalized for improper evidence and stuff, but he’d literally never speak to me again. Fly off to Europe or whatever and write an expose on my unprofessional behavior or something. With that stupid blue ink.

Wait, blue ink? Sure enough, the letter was written in that vivid blue, identical to that of the other letter and the stain. Oh, this is proper evidence. Not sure how else to do this, Phoenix stared directly at Edgeworth until he got his attention, and slowly raised the letter up so Edgeworth could see it. The man’s eyes widened immediately, before he reddened and looked away. Seems it is his… Phoenix thought, the emotions of that fact not setting in yet. He was in full court mode, trying to keep this guy from having to stay in a holding cell.

“Does the defense have something to tell us?” questioned the Judge, obviously a little confused by whatever Phoenix just pulled.

“Oh, um… the defense would like to request a recess, if possible. We may have discovered crucial evidence in dire need of discussion.” He tried to sound as professional as possible, though his voice did crack in the middle of his sentence. The Judge, perhaps in pity, simply nodded his head.

“Very well then. The court will take a five minute recess.” With a bang of his gavel, the court began to exit the room. Phoenix rushed to the defendant lobby, where he was soon joined by both Edgeworth and Penn Byron.

“Oh, Mr. Wright! What a show! Oh, how I quivered when that man checked my hand– but when it was turned, how my innocence was revealed! I must ask you now: has it been proved? Have I been freed from this torturous state?” Penn Byron was expectantly anxious, and Phoenix unfortunately did not have a clear answer for him.

“There is still a good bit of evidence against you, to be honest. We need a clear perpetrator to prove your innocence,” Phoenix replied, before turning to Edgeworth, “who’s actually guilty. We just need to get through today’s trial, and hopefully further investigation will bring someone forward.”

“Oh, but what if no such man appears! What shall I do?!” the defendant practically yelled, lips trembling as if he were about to burst into tears. Phoenix, having literally studied drama in college, still had to admit that Penn Byron’s level of dramatics were on another level.

“‘Such man’ will appear, Mr. Byron. Trust me.” Phoenix flashed him the most confident smile he could, before remembering the real reason for this recess. “Now, if you could excuse us, I need to speak privately with the prosecution.” The man, apparently quick enough on the uptake, nodded and rushed off, leaving Phoenix and Edgeworth alone. Well, probably alone. Phoenix wasn’t quite sure where Maya was, and knowing her…

Focus on the matter at hand, Phoenix.

“So. Letters, right?” Phoenix started, before immediately grimacing. I could not have begun that worse .

“Letters…” Edgeworth wasn’t looking him in the eyes, and was instead covering his mouth with his hand, gazing at the clock on the wall next to him. “Letters indeed.”

Phoenix took said letter out of his bag, and held it in between them. “Look, Edgeworth, I… we can discuss this later. I mean, in detail. Right now, though, we have to prove your innocence.”

Edgeworth slowly met Phoenix’s eyes, and nodded. Something about the movement made Phoenix’s heart quicken, and he couldn’t help but smile. He… God, I need to get through this trial.

It took a moment for Edgeworth to speak, but after a deep breath he opened his mouth. “I did not…” With pinched lips, he sighed, before quickly straightening his posture to his usual form. “I’m a fool, Wright. A foolish fool. I acknowledge that. I am a foolish fool who gets ink on his hands whenever he uses a feather pen. A foolish fool who should have learned that by now, and yet still purposefully used an ink that is famously tough to get off. And were that not bad enough, I am a foolish fool who, when writing a letter, got so overcome with… feelings , that said fool made perhaps the most amateur mistake possible of blotting , and then made his situation worse by trying to brush off the ink for… whatever reason. That is how I got the ink on my hand. A culmination of foolish choices. Not… murder , or stress from murder, or whatever the reason was.” He turned his head down again, eyebrows dropping.

“I never thought you were a murderer, Edgeworth, not for one moment. Never have, and I never will. You’re not that type of man. You’re a good person.” After a brief moment, Edgeworth looked back up, and returned Phoenix’s smile. “Also the fact that you had no motive, no other evidence connecting you to the crime, no personal connection with literally anything involved, and probably a really good alibi helped.”
“Yes, I believe those do. As for my alibi… what, Wright, do you think I was doing 2 days ago at the break of dawn?” He crossed his arms then, and raised his chin for the first time since the recess had been called.

A laugh escaped Phoenix’s mouth, before he covered it. To his slight horror, Edgeworth had severely reddened, and he had turned away again. “No, no, Edgeworth– Miles , I wasn’t laughing at you. I swear.” He had grabbed his attention with the name use, and so Phoenix let out his own deep breath. “No, I was laughing because the situation sort of… hit me. And I’m happy!! That’s why I laughed. Because…” It was his turn to turn his head away, and do his trademark sheepish grin. “Well, you’ll know later. And, uh, I guess you can sort of guess where I’m going with this …” His voice trailed off, and he laughed again, this time more nervous.

Edgeworth’s eyebrows shot up, his eyes widening with them. “That’s– okay.”

“...Okay?”

“Okay, as in– yes. I guess I sort of can. And I’ll wait. I have lots of things to say.” With a sheepish smile nearly mimicking Phoenix’s, he turned away. “And, uh, for my sake, when you’re bringing all this up as evidence…”

“I won’t mention any of this. I swear.”

“Thank you… Phoenix.” He turned his head back to meet Phoenix, but before anything else could be said he hurried off, leaving Phoenix with his hand on his chest, trying to calm his heartbeat. I can’t believe… Oh, nevermind that. I have a job to do.

When he returned to the courtroom, he found Maya at the stand, grinning.

“Where were you?” he whispered, hoping she didn’t sense his clear discord.

“I never left , but you were in such a hurry you didn’t even notice.” Phoenix almost defended himself (as was his natural instinct), but Maya began to speak again. “I saw the way your beloved, grumpy prosecutor looked when he re-entered the room, by the way, and for once in his life he wasn’t grumpy at all, so I’ll assume your moment went well.”

“Erm, I guess, kinda…” His head flashed with the image of Miles smiling, of him turning back, of the way he said the word feelings, and he could immediately feel his cheeks warming. “I mean–! We have established a clear line of defense. No innocent man will be punished today.”
“Uh huh, I’m sure that’s all.” Again, Phoenix tried to defend himself, but he was stopped by the bang of the Judge’s gavel.

“Court is back in session!”

“So, Mr. Wright, you are saying that Mr. Edgeworth couldn’t have committed the murder, because he had the alibi of… delivering nice letters to his friends?” It wasn’t technically a lie. The letter was nice, and they were friends. Still, he could see the way Edgeworth looked away in slight horror everytime that excuse was mentioned, but what better explanation did he have?

“Precisely, sir. And the defense has evidence to prove it.” Phoenix smirked, overcome with confidence. He put one hand on his hip, the other ready to pull out the letter. Even with this confidence, however, it still seemed that every second his eyes glanced at the prosecutor across the room, before darting back to the Judge.

“Oh? Would you care to show this evidence to the court?”

On cue, Phoenix pulled out the letter, holding it up. “My own copy of said friendly letter!” I hope nobody can read the words from this distance … “May the court direct their eyes to this spot?” He tapped where the ink blot was, and it seemed that everyone followed. “This blotch of blue ?”

“Ah!” the Judge exclaimed. “Could it be…?”

“Yup! This is the ink on Mr. Edgeworth’s hand. It was from these letters he was writing, which I can directly testify were being delivered to friends such as myself , as claimed. If that wasn’t enough, this also gives him an alibi for when the murder was occuring, for he was not stabbing random authors he barely knows, he was instead delivering these letters! On the opposite side of town! Seeing as how there’s literally no other evidence pointing him to the case, it is rather safe to assume that Miles Edgeworth is innocent of the murder of Par Chament.” Phoenix stopped for a breath, as he had been talking a mile a minute. “Now, as for the question of who the murderer is , the defense has provided reasoning today to suggest that it was not, in fact, the defendant. More investigation is needed to see if perhaps another suspect may come forth.”

“Hmm… I see your point, Mr. Wright. Considering all that the defense has brought forward, there is reason to suggest that a third, so far unidentified party was the true perpetrator of this cruel, violent murder. A third party who was not the prosecutor of this case, Miles Edgeworth, whose perceived guilt seems to just be an unfortunate misunderstanding, for which I apologize. For this reason, I would like to suspend proceedings for the day, allowing the prosecution and defense to further investigate this matter. Understood?”

“Yes, your Honor,” Phoenix replied with a smile, turning to Edgeworth, who nodded.

“Yes, your Honor… Thank you.”

With a bang of the gavel, court was dismissed, and Phoenix turned to Maya.

“I need to talk to him. I… think you understand.”

“I do. Good luck and see you later, loverboy!” With a salute, she turned away, practically skipping out of the courtroom. Phoenix could only watch as she left, shaking his head. Loverboy…

“Wright,” interrupted his haze, and when he turned around he was somewhat unsurprisingly met by the opposing counsel. “I believe we have… matters to discuss.”

“That we do,” Phoenix replied as nonchalantly as he could, which wasn’t much at all. “Let’s… go somewhere more private.”

They had, for whatever reason, settled on a corner of the court’s parking lot. It did the job enough, however, for Phoenix to not share any complaints.

Nobody talked for a bit, nor did they even look at each other. It was… a lot, really, but honestly the silence was worse.

“So.” Phoenix started, trying to free himself from this hellish limbo. “Letters, huh?”

“Wright–” Edgeworth groaned, putting his head in his hands. “Do not say that again. Don’t make me… regret sending those letters.”

All of a sudden, it hit Phoenix again. Despite this being essentially his, like, fiftieth confirmation of letter sending, this is the one that struck Phoenix. Holy shit. He sent the letters. He… he likes me. More than that, even. His silence, combined with his probably incredibly reddening cheeks, seemed to encourage Edgeworth.

“I did it because… I didn’t know what to do. It was torture, Phoenix , feeling all these things and not being able to express them. Previous coping mechanisms had included faking my death and fleeing town, but obviously that didn’t help much. Not to say such a petty thing was the sole reason for doing that, there were many,” he added, before Phoenix could say anything, not that he could’ve in his stupor. “And so… I expressed my feelings the only way I knew how. Secondhand. Borrowed words. Beautiful words, mostly, but borrowed nonetheless. I hope you forgive me for that. I didn’t want to come off as a coward , but I am, in parts… and I tried, I did.”

“You– you’re not a coward, for one,” was the first thing Phoenix could say, before smiling. “And they were beautiful words. And I liked them. A lot.”

They held each other’s gaze for a minute, before Edgeworth cleared his throat. “...I need to continue. It started with when you came back into my life. When I saw you for the first time in 15 years.” Phoenix thought back to when he saw the ‘new’ Edgeworth in-person for the first time, and raised his eyebrows. “I know what you’re thinking. And no, I did not… experience such feelings for you then. Then, I was only capable of anger and cowardice, surely nothing as deep as what I feel now. But it was an opening. I was more… susceptible after that. Your words, your much-needed calls to reality… they unlocked something in me. And that’s when those ‘unnecessary feelings’ I spoke to you about began to flood in. It was unease and uncertainty and such at first, but before long, perhaps when you chose to defend me so fearlessly in court at my worst moment, that those morphed into… all this .” He spread his hands around in a circle, as if Phoenix could see what was there. He got what he meant, however, and nodded. “And I couldn’t accept that, at first. Of course I couldn’t. I was an extremely emotionally bottled man. I needed to work on myself , first, but I didn’t know how. I wouldn’t know how, until all those emotions became so much that I burst. And that was when I ran, because I did not know what else to do.” He shook his head, before lowering it. “And I am ashamed that I did that. It was the worst thing I’ve ever done, perhaps. But it did allow me to look inwards, and realize… It was time for a change. And I seeked help. I’ve been in therapy, unpacking all that made me the man I am. I’ve been engaging with my interests, more, too. Which led me to begin reading more poetry, something I used to do often, but stopped because all I was capable of being was the Demon Prosecutor .” He smiled in shame, before again looking up to meet Phoenix.  “But, when I read these poems of love and such, I realized… I always pictured you in my head. You, and your odd hair, and idiotic logic leaps that always work out somehow, and sheepish grins, and need to help everybody at all times … It was always you, Phoenix, and I needed to express that. And so I sent those letters. I hand-wrote them at night, hunched over my desk. I deliberated how you’d take certain lines, how your face would look when you read them, how you’d hold the letter as you read. And that was what kept me going. When I went to your office and saw the poem on your computer, I knew… I knew I was doing it for a reason. And that’s why I wrote the postscript on the next one, the most recent one. Because you deserve more than borrowed words. You deserve some of my own. So I wrote some, and now I’m sharing many. Many many. I’ve been talking for a while,” he admitted, suddenly embarrassed. “I’ve told you I’m a fool.”

“Wow, Miles, I–” Phoenix wasn’t sure yet what to say, but didn’t want him to get stuck in his head over his lack of reply. So, he reached forward, and clutched onto one of the man’s hands with his own. “ I’m the fool, because when I read those letters, I often found myself thinking of you . Without even knowing you were connected to them at all. I thought I was delusional, but…” The corners of his mouth quivered upwards as he gazed directly at Edgeworth, whose eyes were as open as they could be. “And when I thought of who would’ve sent the letters, I always hoped, deep down, it was you , but always thought that was a silly fantasy of mine… And now we’re here.” He laughed, out of habit at this point, but this time Edgeworth joined in. “I think it’s only fair that I… at least try to match what you told me. God, where do I start?”

His mind filled itself with many images of Edgeworth throughout the years, of the smiles once rare that have only grown more common with time, the look he always gives Phoenix when he realizes that his points are coming together, the way he grabs his arm when unsure… 

“Well, I became a lawyer for you,” he began, because that was the start of it all, wasn’t it? Edgeworth looked at him curiously, but warmly, allowing Phoenix to go on. “Because when I saw you on the news, I knew that wasn’t you. I wanted to bring back my Miles, who was obsessed with Signal Samurai, and used words that only he knew, and always put fairness first, no matter what. I always loved that old Miles, but, well, I had to learn he wasn’t real anymore. He existed, yes, hidden away, and I knew that. My biggest mistake was thinking he could be restored fully, replace the new Miles.”

“I’d say something to that, but I think it’s best to let you go on.” If Phoenix did not have the sense that this was an emotion-sharing time, he probably would’ve leaned forward and kissed him right then. Instead, he nodded, and fiddled a bit with the hand he held. There’s always time for that later…

“Yeah, thanks. This’ll all make sense eventually, I swear. Um, as I was saying, I couldn’t fully restore the old Miles, because there was new Miles. And I didn’t like that at first, but in time…” He grinned, recollecting again. “I’m not even sure when, but one day I realized… I loved the new Miles. Not the ideological version of you I kept in my head, but the real, living person. Cravat and all. Because you were old Miles, you still did all those things you did back then, you had just grown and changed with time. And, once you… left… you remember, I was so mad at you. I didn’t want to speak to or about you. I didn’t even want to think of you. But once you were back, I realized how much I missed you. And that I never wanted to lose you again. Uh, and I guess that’s why, in part, I never said anything…” Phoenix admitted, using his free hand to rub the back of his head, somewhat embarrassed. “But now I am. Because, uh… yeah. And uh, I really did love the poems, for the record.”

“You did?” he questioned, as if anything Phoenix just said could have convinced him otherwise. “That’s… good. I chose them with, um, deliberation. I mostly stick to Romantic and Victorian works, but I started branching out a bit, because it was getting harder and harder to find things that fully fitted you. Where borrowed lines fail…”

“I’ve never been much of a poetry guy, I’ll admit that,” Phoenix said, immediately causing the other man’s eyebrows to furrow. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ve learned that it’s a great art form. You’ve led me to appreciate it, a lot. Even without the connection to… you.” Somehow, saying that reminded him of something else. “You know, when I was first getting the letters, I just thought it was some random person trying to spread their love of poetry throughout the neighborhood.”

Edgeworth closed and opened his mouth, before practically squinting at him. “Phoenix. They were love poems .”

“Nice love poems! That someone might share to spread beauty, or something…” For a defense attorney, I suck at defending myself. “I don’t know, okay? I have my moments.”

“Those you do.” Some still not-fully-with-the-program part of his brain half expected Edgeworth to just walk away then, and leave it at that. Instead, he stepped forward, and brushed away a stray hair on Phoenix’s face. “I apologize, that was bothering me. You know, I had another poem lined up, but I never got to write it down.”

“Wait, how long were you planning to write those?”

“I don’t know. I think after the tenth or so I would’ve gotten fed up and told you myself, or Ms. Fey would’ve caught me,” he admitted wryly, causing Phoenix’s eyes to widen. 

“Wait, you knew– it was for that ? Gosh…”

“I did not know the exact reason she was… following me, but I suspected it was for that, yes. The main reason I met with you to discuss her was an excuse to talk to you, but I suppose there was probably a weird part of me that wanted to mess with you. Not that I thought you had romantic feelings for me then, but, well, I knew at least she was suspicious of me, so I thought… I’m not sure what I thought, actually.” He admitted that with a slight shrug, before shaking his head. “Anyway, back to the letters, yes. I did enjoy writing them, as I said. Calligraphy is a fine art. Such a shame someone used them for such a cruel act…”

“Oh, god , the case.” Phoenix huffed, not really wanting to think of 1500s dialects and dramatics. Let’s save that for tomorrow… “We’ll figure it out.”

“You always do,” Edgeworth responded, moving his hand to Phoenix’s arm.

“It’d be more accurate to say we always do, honestly. I really appreciate your help with everything, by the way.”

To this, Edgeworth tilted his head down, embarrassed again, before remaking eye contact. This time, he seemed to have little intention of breaking it. After a moment of silence, Phoenix dropped the hand he was clutching on to, causing Edgeworth to glance down and frown. Before he could do anything else, though, Phoenix used his now free hands to grab on to the man’s shoulders.

“You know, Miles, I’m not sure if this is the best place to do this…” Phoenix glanced around, though luckily the place was still deserted.

“You mean–” His eyes widened with shock, as if they didn’t just have a whole emotions-sharing moment that could reasonably lead to this. Trying to hide his surprise, he coughed, before getting a glint in his eye. “Don’t worry. This place is always a wasteland. Let’s just say the amount of traffic was, for the first time in the history of LA, overestimated , so nobody ever comes all the way down here.”

“Hmm… I’ll trust you, but oh, our reputations if we’re caught! How would the city of Los Angeles recover?” Phoenix sighed, as if seriously considering his own dramatic outburst, before grinning.

“Perhaps I really should not have sent those letters…” Edgeworth replied, eyes narrowing, making Phoenix laugh.

“It’s too late now, I’m afraid. Your love of poetry has already been revealed to the world.” From the look on the other man’s face, Phoenix thought he was about to be hit with a typical dry retort, but instead, in a moment, he softened.

“And other things, too, I fear.” Edgeworth reached up to cup Phoenix’s face, holding him there for a second. “Now, at the incredibly pressing risk of my poor reputation…”

He wasn’t quite sure who leaned forward first, but in a moment he felt lips against his own and after that he wasn’t sure of anything, other than an overwhelming sense of finally . There, in a parking lot of all places, what felt like years of longing were finally put to rest. And all because of some letters …

At some point, he was pushed against a border fence, which he now fully depended on to keep him up. Thank goodness, too, as by then he was far past weak in the knees. All he could do was continue to kiss Miles Edgeworth and occasionally break to breathe, but as soon as he met the other man’s eyes they were back at it again. If given the opportunity, he really would’ve stayed there all day.

After a while, though, Edgeworth was the one to place his hand on his chest, breaking it up. “You know, the next poem… I mentioned it earlier, that I had one lined up. It was ‘Love and Death’ by Lord Byron, but I suppose that one has an ending that does not fit us now.”

“Byron? Like–” Phoenix obviously knew of the poet, too, but how could one not acknowledge the very glaring connection?

“Yes, like your client Penn Byron. Speaking of…”

“Do I have any ideas?” Phoenix finished for him, beaming. “I was suspicious of Shane Pear, it seemed too much of a coincidence for him to happen to be walking around at dawn and running into a murder, but that guy is weird , so I don’t know.”

“I suppose you could chalk it down to that, but something about his demeanor…”

“How he kept switching between cowering and, like, super overconfident? That ticked me off, too, but again, something tells me he might just be weird.” In literally just a few seconds, the two had switched to case-solving mode, which honestly should’ve been expected. “I definitely need to re-investigate the crime scene. Now that the mystery of the letters is over, I can devote my full attention to the case.”

“Didn’t you once successfully defend a client while you had amnesia? I’m surprised a distraction got to you.”

“Yeah, I did, I’m very careful around fire extinguishers now.” Seriously, how many times have I sustained a serious head injury? “And it didn’t really get to me, but you never know… plus, now I’m more well versed in the apparently incredibly dramatic world of calligraphy, so that’ll help me out.”

“Oh, surely.” Edgeworth looked down, probably then realizing he was still clutching on to Phoenix. “You know, after tomorrow’s trial, I don’t believe I have any plans…”

“Hm, I don’t believe I do, either,” Phoenix responded, grinning. I mean, I never do, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“I, erm, know this wonderful café next to a library. I actually think we’ve been there before to meet for coffee. We could go there, and then I could show you some other poems I like, if you’d enjoy that…”

“I think I would, actually. Sounds like a plan.” Phoenix leaned forward to kiss him one last time, before patting him. “Now, uh, I definitely think it’s time to leave this parking lot. Feels like we’re tempting fate.”

“Is living not an everyday experiment in the temptation of fate?” Edgeworth questioned, looking wistfully off to the side. Phoenix shot him a look, before shaking his head.

“Those poems are really getting to you. Let’s get out of here before I start thinking you’re the one who almost got a degree in arts.”