Archive of Our Own

Cicadas droned outside, heat drifting through the cracked window. Phoenix felt an ache settling behind his eyes, a persistent companion these days. The door burst open and Trucy swept inside, landing on the battered couch. She clutched a colorful flyer between her fingers, displaying it with the same flourish she'd use to produce a dove from thin air.

"Daddy, look!" The flyer caught the dim afternoon light as she waved it, painted explosions of crimson and gold dancing across its surface above bold letters that announced: Hanabi Matsuri: Yokohama Summer Fireworks Festival.

Phoenix had been hunched over a cheap shogi puzzle book at the small kitchen table, the same page staring back at him for the better part of an hour. The solution should have been obvious—a beginner's trap he would have spotted in seconds back when his mind felt sharp. Now the pieces seemed to blur together, refusing to form any coherent strategy. His turquoise beanie sat forgotten near the table's edge. When he glanced up at her, his fingers absently worried the corner of a page he'd folded down weeks ago but never bothered to flatten.

"The fireworks festival, huh?" He set the book down carefully, though his hands remained resting on its worn cover.

"Yes!" The word burst from Trucy as she bounced forward on her toes. "And I want Mr. Edgeworth to come with us!"

Phoenix's posture shifted at the mention of that name—the man who'd refused to let distance grow between them even after everything fell apart. His fingers drummed once against the book's spine before going still. "…Oh, Miles?"

"Mhm!" Trucy's energetic nod sent her hair swaying around her shoulders, and Phoenix recognized that gleam in her eyes—the one she always got when Miles stopped by their apartment. "We can all go yukata shopping! Can't you just imagine it?"

A laugh escaped him, and he released his grip on the forgotten puzzle book. Leave it to Trucy to dream up something like this, though part of him wondered whether she'd been plotting this ever since she might have overheard their last conversation—the one outside his apartment where he'd fallen apart in front of Miles, feeling every bit as pathetic as he must have appeared to the Chief Prosecutor.

Phoenix's throat felt tight as he tried to find the right words. "Trucy… I don't even know if he'd want to do something like that. And…" His gaze drifted toward the window. "Things are complicated right now."

Trucy simply moved closer, propping her chin in her hands as she fixed him with an unwavering stare. "Please? You're always happy when he's here. I like seeing you happy, Daddy."

She'd noticed what he thought he'd been hiding—how Miles's presence somehow made the air in the apartment feel less suffocating, even while Phoenix wrestled with the shame that had become his constant shadow since losing his attorney's badge. He'd never been one to lay everything bare, even in his better days, but now he kept his cards closer to his chest than ever. Trusting the wrong people had cost him everything, and while Miles didn't fall into that category, the instinct to protect himself had only grown stronger.Trucy saw through it anyway, the way she always did.

He met her eyes for a long moment before exhaling slowly, a smile working its way onto his face. "Alright. I'll ask him." How could he possibly refuse her? Making Trucy happy was one of the few things that still felt worthwhile.

Her delighted squeal filled the apartment as she clapped her hands together. "Yay! This is going to be the best summer ever!" Even her magician's outfit seemed to bounce along with her excitement.

After dinner, Trucy had already drifted off to sleep, the festival flyer clutched against her chest alongside a stuffed teddy bear Miles had given her some time ago. Phoenix could still picture the moment vividly—Miles crouching down to her level to present it, and Trucy's face lighting up with pure delight. Those small gestures always reminded Phoenix why he valued Miles so deeply, even as Miles would invariably glance away and adjust his glasses, insisting he wasn't particularly fond of children and certainly had no talent for interacting with them. Trucy, of course, was the exception he'd never quite admit to.

Phoenix stepped out onto the balcony, where the humidity hung thick in the air despite the faint breeze attempting to cut through it. Japan's summers were merciless this time of year. He shrugged off his jacket and tied it around his waist before fishing his phone from his pocket. The city's distant glow cast a faint gleam across his old Nokia's screen. His eyes settled on the contact near the top of his recent calls. They'd talked frequently in those first months after his disbarment, though the calls had grown sparse lately—the Chief Prosecutor's schedule didn't leave much room for casual conversation. His thumb wavered over the name for several seconds before he finally pressed call.

The rings stretched out long enough that Phoenix nearly convinced himself to hang up and blame it on Miles being too busy, but this wasn't about him. This was for Trucy.

Finally, a click. "Miles Edgeworth speaking."

Phoenix's throat went dry, his tongue suddenly feeling too large for his mouth. He'd run through this conversation at least a dozen times while cooking dinner, but every carefully planned word evaporated the instant Miles's voice filtered through the speaker. A motorcycle tore past on the street below, its engine's roar gradually fading into the humid night. Phoenix's free hand reached for the railing, his fingers meeting painted metal still gritty with accumulated city dust.

"Uh—hey. It's me," he forced out.

"Wright. To what do I owe the pleasure?" The warmth in Miles's tone was impossible to miss, and Phoenix couldn't help the small pang of longing that accompanied it.

"Oh, you know," Phoenix started, the words spilling out faster. "Same old, really. Playing piano at the club, trying not to miss rent, keeping up with Trucy. She's doing great—growing so fast I can hardly keep up with her. And the heat lately—Tokyo summers never get easier, do they? You're probably working late through all of it, aren't you? Chief Prosecutor and all. What time is it, anyway? Midnight? Don't tell me you're still at the office. You are, aren't you? I knew it. Always working. Some things never change—"

"Wright."

The single word halted his rambling, and Phoenix felt his thumbnail find an uneven splinter in the railing and began worrying at it without conscious thought.

"What is it?" Miles recognized the pattern—Phoenix only spiraled like this when he was avoiding something.

Phoenix pulled his hand away from the railing and pressed it against his turquoise beanie instead, his fingers gently gripping the fabric. "It's Trucy. She wants to go to the Hanabi Matsuri, and she asked if you'd come with us. She wants to go yukata shopping with you, too."

The silence returned, filled only by the anxious thudding of Phoenix's pulse in his ears. He was already forming an excuse to take it back when Miles's response came through. "I'd love to."

Phoenix nearly dropped the phone. "Re—really?!" The exclamation came out too eagerly, and he forced a cough to cover his embarrassment. "I mean—good. That's… good."

"Send me the details."

"Yeah. Will do. We can discuss times over text then," Phoenix replied, the phone still pressed firmly to his ear. He swallowed hard as a memory surfaced—a festival they'd unintentionally attended together, back when Miles still flinched at unexpected loud sounds. A fireworks festival might be one of the worst possible venues for him, and Phoenix had been so focused on Trucy's happiness that he'd completely overlooked whether Miles would actually be comfortable with this.

Phoenix drew in a slow breath, running his tongue over his dry lips. "Hey, it's a fireworks festival so… there's gonna be noises and loud bangs. Are you going to be okay with the fireworks?"

A barely audible sigh from the other end of the line. "I'll manage, especially for Trucy. You know I did years ago, too. I appreciate your consideration, Wright."

Phoenix turned around to lean back against the railing, chewing his bottom lip between his teeth as he closed his eyes briefly. "Right, yeah. Right. I just… wanted to be sure."

The call ended shortly after, both of them disconnecting in that awkward way they'd developed lately—as though something was hovering between them. Why did it feel like they were both choking on words? Before Phoenix could dwell on it further, he pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, turning his attention to the sprawling city lights ahead. He focused on the burn in his lungs and the smoke curling into the night air, using it to push away the persistent thoughts of Miles Edgeworth that refused to leave him alone.

•••

A date was decided for the yukata shopping, though Phoenix had quietly hoped he could avoid the whole thing and just wear his usual jacket, sweatpants, and beanie to the festival. Wearing a yukata didn't feel right anymore—he'd sold his old one years ago when rent was due and his wallet was empty. Besides, money had become a recurring point of contention between him and Miles. The Chief Prosecutor was always trying to offer assistance, insisting it wasn't charity but friendship, while Phoenix scraped by on his meager paychecks from the Borscht Bowl Club. The piano gig had been meant to supplement his income, but it had led him down a different path entirely—one that ended at poker tables and risks. Miles lectured him about the dangers of gambling until Phoenix finally snapped that it was one of the few ways he could actually make money, and the argument would dissolve, which felt worse than the shouting.

Phoenix appreciated Miles's concern—god, he did—but he hated being someone who needed saving. Whenever Miles looked at him these days, Phoenix couldn't help wondering what thoughts were running through that mind—whether Miles saw him as some pitiful creature trapped in a cage of his own making, or worse, whether Miles saw the person Phoenix used to be and mourned the loss.

Miles had suggested a particular yukata shop, and they'd agreed to meet there on the weekend before the festival. True to form, Trucy had launched herself at Miles the moment she spotted him, nearly bowling him over with the force of her hug. Phoenix followed behind her with a weak grin, tugging his beanie lower over his eyebrows. Miles laughed and commented on how much she'd grown, and Trucy immediately pleaded for him to visit more often since his appearances had become increasingly sparse lately. Miles nodded and promised he'd make more time, the same assurance he always gave Trucy, though Phoenix could sense the way Miles kept himself at arm's length for reasons he never quite articulated, and maybe it was better that way. Maybe Miles had finally realized that spending time with Phoenix Wright, disbarred attorney and professional disappointment, wasn't worth the effort anymore.

The three of them eventually made their way inside, where they were greeted by an array of different fabrics and patterns in every imaginable color. Several mannequins displayed yukatas that looked both elegant and expensive, and Phoenix avoided glancing at any price tags, silently hoping he'd at least have enough to cover whatever Trucy picked out for herself.

They settled near a changing room, Phoenix taking a seat while they waited for Trucy to emerge from the fitting area. He noticed Miles still wandering among the displays, his index finger tapping against his lips as his eyes narrowed at the various options.

Finally, Trucy burst through the curtain in a swirl of baby-blue fabric scattered with golden fireworks. "Tadaaa! Well? How do I look?"

Phoenix grinned. "You look great, Trucy."

"'Great,'" she echoed, her nose wrinkling with dissatisfaction. She fixed him with an accusatory look before turning toward the other adult in the room. "Mr. Edgeworth?"

Miles, who had moved closer to observe, crossed his arms and tilted his head slightly. "It suits you well. The gold accents complement your ribbon, and the pattern is festive without being overdone."

Trucy's entire expression brightened. "See, Daddy? That's a real answer! Mr. Edgeworth understands fashion." She giggled at Phoenix's expense before disappearing back behind the curtain.

Phoenix had no sense for these things, something Miles had always possessed effortlessly. His gaze drifted over to where Miles stood examining a display of silk obi sashes, studying the folded layers.

"Hey," Phoenix started, approaching while tucking his hands into his jacket pockets. "Thanks for coming. It means a lot to her."

Miles glanced up, their eyes meeting. "You don't need to thank me, Wright. I'm glad to be here," Miles said, managing a small smile.

The curtain flew open again, pulling Phoenix's attention away before he could say anything else.

"Okay, Daddy," Trucy announced, "your turn! And then Mr. Edgeworth!"

Phoenix immediately offered another weak smile, already searching for an escape. "Oh, I don't know if I should. I'm fine with just wearing this there, you know, I'm more comfortable that way," he added with an awkward laugh, but Trucy was already shoving a yukata into his hands with the determination that reminded him she was definitely his daughter.

She looked up at him with a pout. "Daddy. Try this on, I think you'd really shine wearing this," she added, her smile turning cheeky. The color was navy blue, reminiscent of the suit he used to wear every day to court. Phoenix found himself nodding despite his reservations—saying no to Trucy had never been an option.

"Alright, I'll try it on for you, Trucy."

The fabric felt foreign against his skin as he wrestled with the ties inside the changing room. His fingers, more accustomed to piano keys, playing cards, and the condensation-slick surface of beer glasses, fumbled clumsily with the knots. When he finally emerged, he was clad in the dark navy yukata patterned with subtle waves. The obi sat slightly crooked despite his best efforts, but the garment itself fit him surprisingly well enough that he could almost pretend he was someone who belonged in clothes like this.

Trucy clapped her hands together, still spinning in her own yukata—too excited to have bothered changing out of it. "You look so cool! Like a wandering samurai! Strike a pose, Daddy!"

Phoenix awkwardly placed his hands on his hips, attempting to channel some imaginary samurai general while Trucy dissolved into giggles and Miles covered part of his face while adjusting his glasses, though Phoenix caught the amused snicker he was trying to hide.

"I think you're overselling it," Phoenix said, shifting his stance and tugging at the collar. When he caught his reflection in a nearby mirror, all he saw was someone playing dress-up, wearing a costume meant for a life of grace and refinement that didn't belong to him. The fabric pulled slightly across his shoulders—the same shoulders that used to carry legal briefs—and he had to look away before the shame became too obvious.

"Not at all," Miles interjected, lowering his hand. His gray eyes found Phoenix's brown ones and held them. "It's a good match for you."

They stared at each other for what felt like longer than it actually was, and Phoenix found himself scrambling to break the moment despite the awkward smile spreading across his face. "You think so?"

Before he could dwell on it further, Trucy was already thrusting a bundle of crimson fabric at Miles, adorned with elegant white cranes in flight. Phoenix quickly retreated to the changing room to shed the yukata and return to his more comfortable clothing. Miles accepted what Trucy had chosen for him without protest and disappeared into the fitting area.

When Miles emerged, the garment seemed to hang from his frame with an almost reverent quality, the lantern light catching on the crisp silk in a way that made it look expensive even from a distance. He wore it with such natural, composed dignity that it seemed less like he was trying on clothing and more like he'd simply stepped out of some classical painting brought to life.

Trucy's jaw dropped. "You look like an emperor!" she shouted, staring up at him with awe.

Phoenix blinked, warmth creeping up the back of his neck as he tried very hard not to let his eyes linger too obviously on Miles's broad shoulders, the clean lines of his waist, or the exposed column of his throat. "Yeah," he admitted, nearly coughing. "That actually suits you."

Miles adjusted the obi. "I suppose it will suffice. Thank you, Trucy," he said, grinning.

At the register, Phoenix's momentary good mood evaporated. The total displayed on the screen made his stomach drop through the floor. He'd been unable to convince Trucy to put his yukata back, since she'd been so insistent on him wearing one to the festival as well, and now he was staring at a number that represented more than he made in a week at the Borscht Bowl Club. His grip tightened around his worn wallet, the thin leather cracked at one corner where he'd been meaning to repair it for months but never had because even tape cost money, and he felt the familiar burn of humiliation rising in his throat.

Before he could even reach for his card, Miles's was already on the counter.

"Oh, uh, Edgeworth, you don't have to—" 

"I insist." Miles signed the receipt as the cashier bowed respectfully, returning his card. "Consider it a gift."

Phoenix swallowed against the uncomfortable tightness in his throat, watching Miles complete the transaction. "Thank you," he replied, the words feeling insufficient.

Trucy, mercifully oblivious to the undercurrent between them, skipped toward the door. "Best shopping trip ever!"

Phoenix followed with his arms laden with bags, though he noticed Miles had quietly gathered the rest of them without being asked, because of course he had. The image of the Chief Prosecutor, typically so dignified and severe in his professional life, holding bags of colorful festival fabric should have been amusing or endearing. Instead, Phoenix found himself wondering again how he must appear in Miles's eyes, what thoughts moved through that brilliant mind when he looked at Phoenix these days. Did Miles see someone worth saving, or just someone who kept needing to be saved? He wondered if Miles ever got tired of reaching down to pull Phoenix up, if there would come a day when Miles finally decided it wasn't worth the effort anymore.

•••

Phoenix stood by the door, adjusting his obi for what had to be the tenth time, the fabric stubbornly refusing to cooperate with his increasingly frustrated attempts. He'd shaved before putting on the yukata, driven by an irrational fear that someone who didn't know about his disbarment might see the stubble and ask questions he didn't want to answer. He'd even managed to properly wash his hair for once, working it back into those signature spikes that felt more like a costume than something that belonged to him anymore. The obi kept shifting no matter how carefully he tried to secure it, and his fingers kept catching on the bow in ways that made him feel hopelessly incompetent. When he caught a glimpse of himself in the darkened reflection of the window—a man in traditional festival clothing, a smiling daughter at his side, about to attend a summer celebration with someone he… with Miles Edgeworth—it looked almost like a photograph of normalcy, of a life he might have lived in some other version of reality.

"Ready, Daddy?" Trucy's voice pulled him back, and he noticed her own obi had already come loose, leaving her struggling to retie it one-handed.

"Yeah, sweetie." He bent down to fix the knot for her. "Ready as I'll ever be," he added, glancing up at her through his lashes with a smile.

Miles arrived precisely on time, because of course he did—punctuality was practically encoded in his DNA at this point. Trucy spotted him immediately and darted through the gathering crowd, slipping her hand into his without a moment's hesitation, and Phoenix watched the way Miles softened at the contact, the way he adjusted his grip to accommodate her smaller fingers. She beamed up at him before grabbing Phoenix's hand as well, and suddenly she was pulling both of them firmly into the flow of the crowd. The festival hit Phoenix like a wall of sensation: paper lanterns blazing, the air thick with the mingled scents of sizzling yakitori and overly sweet festival candy, the press of bodies and the constant hum of conversation and laughter.

"We have to try everything!" Trucy declared, already weaving through the crowd. She'd released both of their hands almost immediately, rushing ahead with the fearless enthusiasm of youth, which left Phoenix and Miles scrambling after her like parents chasing their first child—slightly panicked, and unprepared for the level of energy she was displaying.

The night dissolved into a series of vivid moments. Trucy yelping after burning her tongue on takoyaki, then immediately reaching for another piece.  Miles's steadying hand at the goldfish scooping game, his long fingers careful where Trucy's were wild and enthusiastic, and Phoenix found himself watching the concentration on Miles's face longer than necessary. The mask stall, where Trucy declared Miles in a tengu mask to be "mysterious and scary, but still cool!" with brutal honesty only children could manage. Besides Miles Edgeworth. Phoenix bought her a candy apple, watching as she bit into it with complete confidence before her eyes scrunched up at the unexpected hardness, though she bit down harder anyway rather than admit defeat.

When they stopped before the shateki shooting gallery, Phoenix froze at the sight of the cork guns. The memory crashed over him without warning—another festival, the smile of a woman who had never been real in any way that mattered. His hand found his own neck almost unconsciously, and he hated that even now, after so many years, Dahlia Hawthorne could reach across time to poison moments that should have been good. The last thing he wanted was for this memory to taint what was supposed to be a happy evening with Trucy and Miles, but the past had never been particularly considerate of what Phoenix wanted.

"Daddy?" Phoenix felt Trucy tugging insistently on the sleeve of his yukata. "Come on!" She pulled at him, her entire body weight committed to dragging him forward.

"I'm coming, Trucy!" Phoenix forced a smile and let himself laugh at the determination in her grip, allowing her to pull him back into the present moment.

Trucy pointed imperiously to where Phoenix should stand, and he noticed Miles was already positioned beside her. She lifted a cork gun with both hands, grinning widely. "Okay! Whoever wins gets first pick of the prizes!"

Phoenix found himself chuckling softly at her unbridled excitement, but as his fingers closed around the cool plastic of his own gun, the present moment began to waver at the edges like a photograph left too long in the sun. The weight of the cork gun became an anchor pulling him backward through the years to another version of himself who'd been so naive it was painful to remember. He glanced sideways at Miles, who was adjusting his stance, his eyes focused as they glared down the barrel through his glasses.

Phoenix felt the question he'd been carefully avoiding for hours—maybe for years—rise unbidden in his throat: whether Miles truly belonged here in this moment with them, or whether Phoenix was just desperately wishing that he did, projecting his own loneliness onto someone who had better things to do than waste his evening at a festival with a disbarred attorney and his daughter.

Miles caught him looking and raised an eyebrow in silent question, and Phoenix felt heat rush to his face as he looked away quickly, forcing his attention back to the targets in front of him. Now was not the time to confront whatever complicated mess of feelings had been building between them, not with Trucy right there and the festival crowds pressing in around them.

Phoenix sat slouched on his couch with the television droning in the background, some overly enthusiastic travel show host waxing poetic about regional cuisine. It was a lazy weekend afternoon, one of those rare days when Phoenix didn't have to drag himself to the office, and he'd fully committed to doing absolutely nothing productive. He'd thrown on his most comfortable sweatshirt and a pair of worn sweats that had seen better days, and the half-eaten cup of instant ramen sitting on the coffee table was slowly congealing into something significantly less appetizing than it had been twenty minutes ago.

"—and there you have it, folks! The heart of Tokushima Prefecture!"

The screen filled with a gleaming array of steaming dishes that looked infinitely better than anything Phoenix had eaten in the past month, and his stomach responded with an embarrassingly loud growl of protest. "That looks delicious," he muttered to himself, rubbing absently at his stomach as if that might somehow satisfy it. His job at Wright & Co. Law Offices kept him busy enough that proper meals often fell by the wayside, though he supposed he should be grateful he was getting paid more than whatever meager salary Detective Gumshoe was currently surviving on.

The host wrapped up his segment, encouraging viewers to stay tuned for more culinary adventures. "Next week, we'll be visiting the famous home field of the Seibu Lions in Saitama!"

Phoenix straightened so quickly that the couch springs creaked in protest beneath him. "Huh? My hometown?" The screen shifted to showcase local specialties—yakitori skewers glistening with sauce, each char mark perfectly even in a way that made his mouth water involuntarily—and he couldn't suppress the groan that escaped him. "Man... I miss Kitamoto's yakitori."

The memory of that particular flavor hit him, that perfect balance of sweet and savory that he hadn't tasted since moving to Tokyo years ago. His stomach protested again with another loud rumble, a pointed reminder of just how inadequate his instant food diet had become.

His phone buzzed against his thigh, jolting him out of his food-induced nostalgia before he could start seriously drooling. The caller ID read Larry Butz, and Phoenix felt his expression immediately shift into something between resignation and dread. The last thing he wanted was for his peaceful weekend solitude to be interrupted, especially now that Maya had returned to Kurain Village and he'd been looking forward to some actual quiet time. "Don't tell me he's been accused of murder again," he muttered under his breath before answering with a weary sigh. "Hello, this is Phoenix Wright."

"Nick! Thank goodness!" Larry's voice came through so shrill and panicked that Phoenix had to immediately hold the phone away from his ear to preserve his hearing. He winced, already bracing himself for whatever disaster was about to spill out of his childhood friend's mouth. "There's a Hanabi Matsuri tomorrow! My girlfriend and I were supposed to go, but... she dumped me. Today."

"Ah, I'm sorry, Larry," Phoenix offered, though he was struggling to remember what this girlfriend had even looked like—Larry cycled through relationships so quickly that Phoenix had long since stopped trying to keep track of names and faces. He vaguely recalled Larry mentioning something about attempting a polyamorous relationship at some point, though apparently that had ended in an argument that resulted in all parties going their separate ways. No matter what configuration Larry tried, his romantic life seemed destined for constant turbulence. Phoenix pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling the start of a headache. That makes girlfriend number fifty this year, he thought. "So what do you need?" He reached for the cup of water sitting next to his abandoned ramen, lifting it to his lips.

"Come with me! I already bought the tickets—I don't wanna waste them!" Larry's whine came through the phone, and Phoenix could already picture his friend attempting those ridiculous puppy-dog eyes that had never actually worked on anyone.

Phoenix nearly choked on the sip of water he'd just taken, coughing as he set the cup down too hard. "A festival? Larry, I haven't been to one since I was twenty." The thought of attending a summer festival immediately dragged up memories he'd rather keep buried—Dahlia Hawthorne, the feelings he'd thought were real, only to have them exposed as manipulation and poison in a courtroom years later. He swallowed against the lodge in his throat. "I don't even know if I still own a yukata."

"Don't give me that, Nick! You're Japanese—of course you do!" Larry thought Phoenix was being deliberately difficult.

Phoenix grumbled something unintelligible under his breath as he hauled himself off the couch, shuffling toward his bedroom as if someone walking to their own execution. He opened the closet door and started digging through the accumulated debris of his past, shoving aside boxes of old belongings—a red scarf he couldn't bring himself to throw away, a pink sweatshirt that belonged to a version of himself he barely recognized anymore. Tucked all the way in the back, almost hidden, was a black yukata patterned with a faint white dragon. He pulled it out carefully, the fabric wrinkled from years of storage but otherwise intact. The sight of it hit him harder than he'd expected, a physical reminder of a time when he'd been younger and stupider. He had to take a moment to steady himself, forcing down the emotions threatening to surface. That boy—Feenie, as Dahlia, or Iris, had called him—was gone, and Phoenix had spent years making sure he stayed gone.

"I've got one," he finally admitted, balancing his phone between his shoulder and ear while his thumb traced over the yukata's collar almost unconsciously.

"So you'll come?!" Larry shrieked with enough excitement that Phoenix had to resist the urge to hang up immediately.

Phoenix felt his eye twitch. "Yeah, I'll come. But I'm not staying long—"

"Thanks, Nick! You're the best! Meet me at six!" Larry interrupted, and the line went dead before Phoenix could finish his sentence or set any actual boundaries for this disaster in the making.

Phoenix stood there with the phone still pressed to his ear, listening to the dial tone and wondering how he always let Larry talk him into these things. He eventually set the phone down on his unmade bed and laid the yukata out carefully across the rumpled bedspread, smoothing the fabric with both hands as if that might somehow smooth out the complicated feelings that came with it. His fingers traced the stitched lines of the dragon pattern—the kanji in his Japanese name, Ryuichi, meant "first son of the dragon," and he'd chosen this particular design for that reason.

"Guess it's time I wore this again," he said quietly to the empty room, though he wasn't entirely sure he believed it himself.

The festival erupted around him in a dizzying assault on every sense at once—a far-off shamisen struggling to make itself heard over the sizzle of yakitori on hot grills, children's laughter cutting through the constant murmur of a thousand overlapping conversations. Paper lanterns swayed overhead in the evening breeze, casting pools of amber light that shifted and danced across the packed earth beneath his feet. The air hung thick and heavy, so saturated with competing scents that Phoenix could practically taste it—the cloying sweetness of candied apples mixing with the savory punch of soy sauce and grilled meat, all of it undercut by the crushed-grass smell of ground that had been trampled by hundreds of festival-goers.

"Nick! You made it!" Larry's voice cut through the ambient noise a split second before his arm collided with Phoenix's shoulder.

"L-Larry!" Phoenix's geta sandal slipped treacherously on the gravel-strewn path, the rough scrape of wood against stone startlingly loud in his ears as he stumbled forward, his free hand shooting out to catch himself against a wooden support post before he could face-plant in front of half of Tokyo. "Be careful, will you?" He straightened himself, glaring at Larry while clenching his teeth against the irritation already building in his chest.

Larry took a step backward, forming ninety-degree angles with his fingers like some kind of pretentious film director, squinting one eye as he studied Phoenix's appearance with exaggerated scrutiny. "I'm glad I called you, man—we're gonna win so many prizes tonight!" He leaned in close enough that Phoenix caught a whiff of yakisoba on his breath, his whisper carrying far too loudly to actually qualify as a whisper. "These kids won't stand a chance against us." He thrust a thumbs-up directly into Phoenix's personal space, a grin spreading across his face that could only be described as villainous.

"We are adults, Larry—not bullies," Phoenix muttered, leaning back and swatting the offending hand away from his face. "I thought your girlfriend broke up with you."

Larry's entire expression crumpled like a used tissue. "Don't bring her up, Nick! I'm still sensitive! Kelly was everything to me!" He spun away, flinging the back of his hand against his forehead in a gesture straight out of a melodrama. "She left me to go to Austria! She was the only woman in the world for me!" Before Phoenix could stop him, Larry threw himself onto the ground, sprawling face-first in the dirt.

Phoenix felt a vein start to pulse insistently at his temple as passersby began whispering and pointing at the spectacle unfolding before them. Great. Just great. This was exactly what he'd signed up for when he agreed to come.

"Okay, okay! Get up—you're making a scene," he hissed, hauling Larry back to his feet by the shoulders. He tried to brush the dirt off Larry's yukata before anyone could take a picture of this disaster, the fabric nearly slipping from his grip as the sleeve threatened to come loose entirely.

Instantly, as if someone had flipped a switch, Larry brightened like nothing had happened. He wiped his nose on his sleeve in one graceless motion that made Phoenix visibly cringe, and that grin returned to his face as though the tears—which had miraculously evaporated—had never existed in the first place.

"Come on! Let's go win prizes!" Larry announced, grabbing Phoenix by the arm and practically hauling him toward the Super Ball Sukui booth before he could protest. The stall was packed with children whose heads barely reached Phoenix's chest, and he became acutely aware of just how absurd they must look—two grown men preparing to compete against elementary schoolers for cheap plastic prizes.

Larry thrust a paper scoop into Phoenix's hand, leaning in close with an intensity that was completely unwarranted for a children's game. "Demolish them."

Phoenix sighed heavily, trying to ignore the weight of what he was about to do while searching for some kind of justification that would make him feel less pathetic. When Maya comes back from Kurain Village, I'll give her my prizes, he told himself firmly.Yeah, that's why I want to succeed at this. That makes it okay…

The sharp tweet of the starting whistle cut through the air, and the area around the stall immediately erupted into chaos—the frantic plip-plop-plip of plastic scoops breaking the water's surface, the clatter of super balls bouncing against cheap tin trays creating a discordant rhythm that somehow captured the competitive spirit of the moment perfectly. Phoenix crouched down, immediately feeling the damp hem of his yukata soaking cold water into the fabric around his ankles, and his fingers quickly grew numb and pruned from being submerged in the water. The thin bamboo handle of the scoop became increasingly slippery in his grip, making each successful capture feel like a minor victory. Every time he managed to land a ball in his tray, it produced a satisfying clack that was almost immediately drowned out by Larry's triumphant whooping and the disappointed sighs of the children surrounding them who were watching their prizes disappear into adult hands.

A little girl standing nearby stared up at Phoenix with eyes so devastated that he felt guilt lance through his chest, and for a moment he considered handing over everything he'd won just to make that expression disappear from her face.

Two hours later, Phoenix found himself standing amidst what could only be described as the wreckage of their so-called victory. He'd essentially trampled over the dreams of countless children who'd come here hoping to win the limited edition Steel Samurai prizes being offered exclusively at tonight's festival. He'd never imagined himself as the kind of person who would do such a thing, and yet here he was, arms already aching from the sheer weight of their haul, cheap toys threatening to slip from his increasingly numb grip while his shoulders burned.

"I feel like I just robbed a bunch of kids," Phoenix muttered, glancing around at the parents who were very clearly glaring in their direction and whispering to each other.

Larry, however, strutted through the crowd like some kind of conquering hero returning from battle, juggling his prizes as he walked and showing them off to every child unfortunate enough to cross his path. He was technically vibrating with the same giddy energy as the children themselves, dangling the toys beside his face with an insufferable smirk. His boasting came to an abrupt halt when a familiar voice shouted, and Phoenix felt his entire body freeze.

"Sir! You'll get it next time!"

"Detective, I said I'm not interested."

Phoenix stopped mid-step, the suddenness nearly causing him to drop everything he was carrying. No. No way.

Larry tugged on his sleeve hard enough that Phoenix stumbled forward, nearly losing his balance. "Nick, look! That's Edgey! And the—uh—Gumfart?"

"It's Gumshoe," Phoenix corrected faintly, though his heart had started hammering against his ribs with an intensity that had nothing to do with the detective's presence. No, the sudden acceleration of his pulse was entirely because of the prosecutor standing beside Gumshoe.

There they were, impossible to miss even in the crowded festival grounds. Edgeworth stood rigid in a smoke-gray and burgundy yukata that probably cost more than Phoenix's monthly rent, the fabric fitted around his waist, emphasizing his lean frame in ways that Phoenix should not be noticing. His arms were crossed in that defensive posture, his sharp gaze fixed on the detective beside him. Detective Gumshoe, by contrast, was struggling with an ill-fitting green and gray yukata that bunched at odd angles, fumbling clumsily with an air rifle while muttering to himself.

"Sir, between you and me, I think this thing's rigged," Gumshoe attempted what was probably meant to be a whisper, squinting down the barrel. he was taking this far too seriously.

Edgeworth closed his eyes and drew in a breath; his patience was being tested beyond reasonable limits. It seemed increasingly obvious that Edgeworth hadn't come to this festival of his own volition—Gumshoe had probably badgered him into attending, perhaps out of concern for the stress that was so clearly affecting Edgeworth's already formidable resting bitch face.

"Edgey!" Larry bounded forward like an overexcited puppy spotting its owner after a long absence. "No way! I didn't know you were into festivals!"

Edgeworth's eyes snapped open. "L-Larry?! What on earth—?"

Gumshoe spun toward the commotion so quickly he nearly clipped Edgeworth with the rifle, his face lighting up with delight. "Ah—Harry Butz! Been a while, pal!"

"It's Larry! L-A-R-R-Y!" Larry stamped his foot against the ground with each letter, spelling out his name as though this was somehow going to make it stick this time.

Edgeworth's gaze drifted past Larry's indignant display to the figure attempting to hide behind a festival mask, and Phoenix felt his stomach drop as he realized he'd been spotted. He'd grabbed one of the Steel Samurai masks he'd won earlier and was using it to shield his face, desperately hoping Edgeworth wouldn't recognize him in the crowd.

Edgeworth tilted his chin slightly, one finger rising to point at Larry. "Larry, are you perhaps… I didn't know you were interested in men as well."

Larry stared at him with confusion, his head tilting to one side like a puzzled dog. "What? No way! I'm as straight as a ruler. That's Nick!"

Phoenix felt something inside him die a little as he twitched involuntarily, nearly dropping the Steel Samurai mask in the process. Slowly, with all the dignity of a man walking to the gallows, he lowered the mask to reveal his face. His cheeks were burning hot enough that he wondered if they were visibly red even in the warm glow of the lantern light, and he urged what he hoped was a sheepish grin despite wanting nothing more than to sink into the ground.

"Wright," Edgeworth said, his eyes swept over Phoenix, which made something flutter in Phoenix's chest.

"H-hey, Edgeworth," Phoenix managed, shifting his weight awkwardly from foot to foot while clutching his armful of stolen prizes.

"Wait, you're here too, pal?!" Gumshoe exclaimed, promptly dropping the rifle directly onto his own foot. He let out a yelp followed by a string of curses that he quickly swallowed when Edgeworth's glare landed on him.

"See?! The gang's all here! The Signal Samurai trio!" Larry announced, completely oblivious to the tension crackling in the air between the other adults.

Edgeworth ignored him entirely, his attention fixed on Phoenix with laser focus. "What exactly do you intend to do with all those exclusive Steel Samurai toys?" He emphasized the word 'exclusive', as if to remind them that these prizes were only being offered tonight at this specific festival—and notably, there were none currently in Edgeworth's possession.

Larry answered before Phoenix could formulate a response, juggling one of the prizes while stroking his goatee. "Dunno. Sell 'em. Some nerd's bound to pay a fortune."

Something dangerous flickered across Edgeworth's expression, his eyebrow twitching as his gaze immediately zeroed in on Larry with fury. "Sell them?"

"Well, Nick's just giving his to Maya, right?" Larry shrugged, gesturing toward Phoenix with one of the toys.

Caught completely off guard, Phoenix nodded, frantically trying to shift his position to hide the bulges in his yukata's pockets where he'd stashed additional prizes. "Y-yeah. She's... a fan." It was true that Maya enjoyed Steel Samurai.

The fury seemed to drain away at the mention of Maya as Edgeworth recalled that she was indeed a devoted fan of the show. The reminder seemed to mollify him considerably, though he still looked irritated at Larry's cavalier attitude. "I see. I'm sure she'll appreciate them."

"Sir! Sir!" Gumshoe thrust two toys into Edgeworth's hands like a dog presenting its owner with a prized stick. "I finally won you another one! Now you have two!"

Edgeworth's lips shifted into something approaching a growl, and a faint flush crept across the prosecutor's cheeks. It was obvious Edgeworth was mortified at the thought of admitting to his childhood friends—or anyone, really—that he'd actually wanted these exclusive Steel Samurai toys, and that the well-meaning but hopeless detective beside him wasn't winning nearly as many as Larry and Phoenix had managed to acquire.

A ripple suddenly ran through the crowd as people began hurrying toward the main square, a wave of movement accompanied by excited chatter. The fireworks were starting.

"Oh man, the fireworks! They're starting already! There could be a cute girl over there! Outta my way!" Larry shouted, already bolting ahead without waiting for a response. In one fluid motion, he scooped up a candied apple from a nearby display stand without the vendor even noticing, the theft was executed so smoothly and casually that it almost looked like he'd actually paid for it. He stuck his tongue out as he admired his ill-gotten prize before sprinting away into the crowd.

"Hey! That's stealing, pal!" Gumshoe bellowed, immediately charging after him with speed for someone who'd just dropped a rifle on his own foot earlier.

And just like that, Phoenix and Edgeworth were left standing alone in the thinning crowd. Phoenix turned stiffly, already knowing what he'd find, and sure enough, Edgeworth was watching him with that analytical gaze.

They walked side by side through the thinning crowd, the clack of their geta sandals against stone pavement occasionally giving way to softer thuds when the path shifted to packed dirt. Neither spoke for a long stretch, though the silence wasn't entirely uncomfortable—just had that awkward tension that always seemed to settle between them when they were alone together. Phoenix's mind was already racing through potential conversation starters, discarding each one as too revealing, while their shoulders came close enough to brushing with each step that he became hyperaware of the space between them. His eyes kept betraying him, drifting sideways to steal glances at Edgeworth's exposed neck—such a rare sight when the man typically armored himself in cravats—and the clean lines of his profile illuminated by passing lanterns. Phoenix had to look away each time before he got caught staring like some lovesick teenager.

He cleared his throat, finally seizing on something neutral enough to break the silence. "Hey, want to grab some kakigōri?"

Edgeworth's gaze followed his gesture toward the shaved ice stand, a small crease forming between his brows as he weighed the merits of the suggestion. "I suppose that would be acceptable."

As they joined the short line, Phoenix absently patted at his yukata's pocket sleeves with growing alarm. Nothing. Perfect. Of course I'd forgotten my wallet.

"Honestly, Wright." Edgeworth's voice cut through his internal panic, and suddenly, two cups were being shoved into Phoenix's chest. He had to scramble to catch them before they tumbled to the ground—one tinted blue, the other strawberry red, both already beginning to melt in the lingering summer heat. "Pick one. They only had two flavors available."

Phoenix accepted the strawberry cup, the paper sleeve already going soft and pulpy from the condensation. His fingers left cloudy prints on the wet surface as he adjusted his grip. "You didn't have to—"

"Don't start," Edgeworth cut him off sharply, his mouth settling into a frown as he raised an eyebrow in warning. "They're inexpensive, and I have no intention of listening to you babble about paying me back for shaved ice. I'm well aware of what your financial situation looks like, Wright."

It was not cruel, just honest in that blunt way Edgeworth had that others might mistake for insensitivity. "Thanks, Edgeworth." Phoenix meant it despite the sting of being so transparent in his struggles.

The first bite hit him like a shock to the system, the syrup aggressively sweet in a way that coated his tongue with memories of past festivals he'd rather not dwell on. He could hear the ice crystals crunching faintly between his teeth, the texture somehow both satisfying and unsettling. He forced himself to swallow, nearly choking on the cold.

They continued walking in silence, the only sounds between them the gentle scraping of wooden spoons against paper cups as they worked their way through the shaved ice. Another ten minutes passed this way before Edgeworth suddenly stopped, his fingers curling firmly around Phoenix's elbow to halt him.

"Stop," Edgeworth said, startling Phoenix into turning to face him fully. "Something is troubling you, Wright. You haven't even noticed your obi has been slipping for the past several minutes."

Phoenix winced, a rueful laugh escaping him as he glanced down at himself. Sure enough, the entire thing had gone completely askew without him noticing. "Guess you caught me," he admitted, meeting Edgeworth's concerned gaze with what he hoped passed for casual deflection. "I've just been…a little out of it tonight. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Edgeworth's hand fell away from his arm, as though he was afraid he'd overstepped some invisible boundary. "I see. then I apologize for prying. It wasn't my intention to intrude on matters you'd prefer to keep private." He looked back down at his shaved ice cup.

"No, it's not your fault," Phoenix rushed to clarify, immediately regretting how defensive he'd sounded. He hadn't meant to push Edgeworth away like that—the truth was, he'd been enjoying the prosecutor's company despite the awkwardness that always seemed to settle over them when they were alone, unable to fall back on their usual courtroom dynamic. "Larry dragged me here, and I guess I'm still not great at festivals. I've got… bad memories."

"Larry is as insufferable as ever," Edgeworth agreed, as though this universal truth brought him some comfort. He turned to face Phoenix more directly. "Wright. I won't demand that you speak of what you'd rather keep to yourself. But…" His eyes shifted away briefly, some internal struggle playing out before he forced himself to meet Phoenix's gaze again. "I would like to think that my company is not entirely unwelcome to you."

Phoenix glanced up, startled by the vulnerability threaded through those chosen words. The realization hit him—this awkward, stilted exchange was already rewriting the bitter memories that had haunted him all night. "It's not," he panicked, nearly loud enough to draw attention from passersby. "Unwelcome, I mean," he added more softly, feeling heat creep up his cheeks.

Edgeworth nodded, and Phoenix caught the faint curl of a smile at the corners of his mouth—a rare sight that always felt like a private victory. "Good to know."

The crowd began to swell around them as people gravitated toward the main square, a tide of bodies pulling them inexorably along with it. Phoenix kept Edgeworth in his peripheral vision, noting the way the prosecutor's posture remained impeccable and unbothered to any casual observer. But Phoenix knew better—he'd seen Edgeworth face down challenges in court that would break lesser people, and he'd learned to read the subtle tells that most people missed entirely. When the first firework exploded overhead with a boom, Phoenix caught the tremor that ran through Edgeworth's frame—a barely-there flinch that anyone else would have dismissed or overlooked entirely.

"Come on." Phoenix decided in an instant, setting his half-finished cup on a nearby crate before reaching out to gently take Edgeworth by the wrist. He felt the prosecutor's pulse jump beneath his fingertips, rapid despite Edgeworth's maintained composure. Phoenix held on firmly, aware of how cold his own fingers felt against the warmth of Edgeworth's skin, and guided him away from the main crush of the crowd toward a quieter stretch where the lantern light grew dimmer and the noise dulled to something more manageable.

They stopped in a small pocket of relative peace, and Edgeworth immediately set his cup down on a nearby bench, the blue syrup pooling at the bottom in a way that suggested he'd barely touched it.

Edgeworth crossed his arms the moment Phoenix released his wrist, and Phoenix noticed that he'd been touching Edgeworth without permission, his hand falling away perhaps too quickly. "Wright, you didn't have to do that. I would have been perfectly fine."

"You always say that," Phoenix replied with a sigh as he watched Edgeworth struggle to mask the lingering fear from that first explosive boom. The prosecutor was trying so hard to maintain his usual unshakeable facade. "But I figured a little distance from the main event wouldn't hurt." He hesitated, searching for the right words to make his intentions clear without making this more awkward than it already was. "Besides, I'd rather be here with you anyway."

Edgeworth's gaze shifted away, and Phoenix noticed the hard set of his mouth easing. "Hmph. You presume too much, Wright." Despite the dismissive words, the comment lacked its usual edge. "Still… thank you."

A few fireworks burst overhead in the distance, far enough away that the sound reached them as muted pops rather than the jarring explosions they'd escaped. Phoenix took a step closer, closing some of the distance. "Hey, Edgeworth, give me your hand."

Edgeworth blinked at him as his brow furrowed. The request had clearly caught him off guard, but after a pause, Edgeworth extended his hand with his palm facing upward.

Phoenix cupped Edgeworth's palm carefully and pressed one of the small Steel Samurai toys into it, the cheap plastic warm from being in his pocket. His fingers lingered longer than necessary, and he found himself giving Edgeworth's hand a gentle squeeze before reluctantly pulling away. "A thank you. For earlier, and for... this."

Edgeworth stared down at the trinket now resting in his palm, his thumb moving over the cheap plastic surface as though it were something precious and irreplaceable rather than a mass-produced festival prize. Phoenix watched his throat work as he swallowed. "Thank you, Wright," he whispered.

Phoenix felt warmth flood his cheeks. Fireworks continued to blossom overhead in the distance, their light painting shifting patterns across Edgeworth's features in vibrant blues and golds and crimsons, catching in his eyes and making them seem to glow.

Despite everything, Phoenix found himself grateful that he'd come tonight.

The crack of corks hitting wood yanked Phoenix from his memories of that festival with Miles years ago, back when everything had felt simpler, even if it hadn't actually been. At the shateki stall, Miles had stepped forward, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses as he closed one eye and steadied himself. He lifted the cork rifle, his fingers adjusting the grip in minute increments before he fired. Each shot landed with flawless accuracy, the satisfying thwack of cork meeting wood echoing as targets toppled one after another until the entire display had been systematically cleared. Miles didn't flinch even once throughout the entire performance, and Phoenix found himself wondering distantly if the prosecutor no longer recoiled at sudden loud noises the way he used to, or if he was simply that good at hiding it now.

The stall keeper stood there gawking, his hand frozen halfway to the prize shelf in disbelief. "W-whoa! You cleared the entire board in one go!"

Miles lowered the rifle, adjusting his glasses with his free hand. A satisfied smirk touched his lips, like delivering a devastating contradiction in court.

"Mr. Edgeworth!" Trucy gasped beside Phoenix, her eyes shining bright enough to rival the paper lanterns strung overhead. "That was incredible!"

The vendor fumbled to retrieve the grand prize—an absurdly oversized rabbit plush in soft pink that nearly dwarfed Trucy's entire frame. Miles accepted it with both hands, and for a brief moment, the image of the stern Chief Prosecutor holding what amounted to a mountain of pastel fluff was almost silly. Without hesitation, he extended it toward Trucy.

She squealed, hugging it to her chest so fiercely that Phoenix briefly worried she might actually suffocate the thing. "Thank you, thank you! You're the best!"

Watching Trucy beam up at Miles with such adoration, Phoenix felt that Miles didn't look like a distant rival or the intimidating Chief Prosecutor in this moment—but then again, he'd stopped being just those things to Phoenix a long time ago, even if Phoenix had trouble admitting it to himself. The truth was that Phoenix had never really seen Miles as only a rival or prosecutor, not in any meaningful sense. He was so much more than that, always had been, though Phoenix seemed determined to keep pushing him away. A treacherous voice in the back of his mind whispered that Trucy deserved better than what Phoenix could currently provide—she deserved a father who didn't have to calculate the cost of a goldfish scoop before deciding if they could afford it, who didn't have to deny her small luxuries because his paycheck barely covered rent and utilities. She deserved someone stable and successful, someone like Miles, not a disbarred attorney struggling to keep his head above water.

"Guess you've got perfect aim," Phoenix managed, trying to redirect his spiraling thoughts with what he hoped passed for a casual smile, though he suspected it came out looking strained.

Miles turned toward him, his eyes glinting behind his lenses. "Naturally," he replied, as if there had never been any question about the outcome.

Phoenix shook his head, managing a breathless laugh. Typical Miles, always carrying that confidence about his abilities, that unshakeable certainty in his own competence.

They continued walking, passing a stall selling expensive hand-blown glass figures. Trucy made a small sound of wonder, her fingers hovering reverently near a glass bird without quite touching it. Miles paused as well, his attention caught by a piece shaped like a soaring hawk with its wings spread in frozen flight, captured forever in that moment of freedom.

Another ugly thought sliced through Phoenix's mind before he could stop it, cold enough to make him feel physically ill.  Miles could probably buy out the entire stall without even checking the price tags, without experiencing that stomach-dropping moment of panic that Phoenix felt every time he had to make a purchase. Miles had paid for the yukatas without hesitation, Miles was funding Phoenix's quest to regain his badge through investigations Phoenix couldn't afford to conduct on his own, and hell, their most recent argument had been about Miles trying to help with Phoenix's rent when it came up short. That was the line Phoenix couldn't let himself cross, the final humiliation he refused to accept no matter how much Miles pushed. What was he to Miles, really, if not the most expensive charity case the prosecutor had ever taken on?

He shoved the thought down viciously, disgusted with himself for even thinking it when Miles had never made him feel like anything less than an equal.

Trucy continued ahead of them, the oversized plush swaying precariously in her small arms as she struggled to maintain her grip around its round belly. She had to tilt her head at an awkward angle just to see around it, and her yukata sleeves fluttered with each skip, the golden ribbon tied at her back catching the lantern light like a streak of captured fire.

"Nick! Hey, NICK!"

The shout cut through the festival's ambient melody like a record scratch. Phoenix's entire body tensed in anticipation of the inevitable impact before he'd even fully turned around, his shoulders hiking up defensively because he knew exactly who was about to crash into their evening. Sure enough, Larry Butz was bulldozing through the crowd with a lack of spatial awareness, one arm waving wildly overhead while a woman in a cheerful sunflower-patterned yukata found herself tethered to his other hand and struggling to keep pace.

"Larry." Phoenix performed what he hoped was a reasonably welcoming smile, though he could feel his lips twitching.

"What are the odds?" Larry skidded to an ungraceful halt, forcing his girlfriend to steady him before he could topple over entirely. His chest puffed out with pride as he gestured dramatically. "First you, then Edgey, and now—tada!—my brand-new girlfriend!" He swept his free hand toward the woman beside him as if unveiling the grand prize on some elaborate game show, completely oblivious to her embarrassment.

She offered them a polite smile despite Larry's theatrics. "Nice to meet you all."

"Larry, I honestly can't believe you actually have a girlfriend who agreed to come to the festival with you this time," Phoenix said, lifting an eyebrow as he crossed his arms.

Larry barked out a laugh, choosing to interpret this as friendly teasing. "Ah, Nick, always with the jokes!" His grin faltered slightly as his gaze traveled over Phoenix's yukata. "So, uh... how's life treating you? The big-shot attorney thing still keeping you completely buried in work?"

Phoenix's stomach clenched violently, a physical twist of nausea that he had to actively fight down. His hand lifted in a movement so ingrained that he couldn't stop it, even knowing how it would end, reaching for where his attorney's badge used to sit against his lapel like a talisman. His fingers found only cotton fabric, and the absence there felt like a fresh wound every single time, like pressing deliberately on a bruise that had never been given the chance to properly heal.

He forced a crooked smile onto his face. Dodging questions like this had become an unfortunate second nature over the past seven years, a carefully choreographed dance he despised having to perform—especially in front of Miles, who he could feel watching this entire exchange with that sharp prosecutorial attention that missed nothing. Phoenix's thumb brushed against his chin unconsciously, and for one fleeting ridiculous moment, he found himself grateful that he'd bothered to shave before coming tonight. He'd been right to worry about how others would perceive him, even if the concern felt pathetic in retrospect.

"Yeah, you know me. Same as always," he deflected smoothly, pivoting the conversation away from himself. "Trucy's the one really keeping me on my toes these days."

Right on cue, as if she'd been waiting for her entrance, Trucy chimed in brightly. She squeezed the giant rabbit plush hard enough that its stuffing visibly compressed beneath her grip. "Daddy's right! Look what Mr. Edgeworth won for me!"

Larry slapped both hands against his cheeks in shock, his eyes and jaw opening wide. "Edgey won that massive thing?!"

Miles adjusted his glasses with one finger, that smirk returning as his eyebrow quirked upward. "The stall's calibration was clearly off. It required no particular feat of skill." Despite the dismissive words, there was a slight lift at the corners of his mouth.

"She hasn't let go of it since," Phoenix added with a laugh, trying to maintain the lighter atmosphere and pretend he hadn't just deflected an incredibly painful question about his current professional status.

Larry crouched down to Trucy's eye level, grinning. "Aw, kiddo! You've been doing okay?" He cocked his head to the side, watching as Trucy nodded with such enthusiasm her entire body seemed to vibrate with it.

Trucy started bouncing on her toes, unable to contain her excitement any longer. "I've been great! Daddy, Mr. Edgeworth and I all went yukata shopping together!" She giggled, clutching the plush even tighter, her small fingers digging into its impossibly soft fur. "Mr. Edgeworth bought our yukatas too."

Larry gasped with offense, straightening up abruptly. "Oh, without inviting me?! You guys!" He pouted, though his girlfriend beside him simply giggled at his dramatics. After a moment, Larry shot Miles a puzzled look. "But seriously, hey man, you really are full of surprises, Edgey. I never would've taken you for a sharpshooter! Next thing I know, you'll be running off to join the circus or something."

Miles's smirk crumbled instantly into open disdain, frost settling visibly over his features. "Don't be ridiculous, Larry."

"Hey, relax! I'm just saying!" Larry laughed off the cold response before whirling back to address Trucy directly. "Say, kiddo, want to come watch the fireworks with me and my girl? We've got the ultimate spot already picked out!"

His girlfriend offered Trucy an encouraging smile, crouching down to her level as well.

Trucy gasped, immediately turning to tug on Phoenix's yukata sleeve. "really? Can we, Daddy? Please?" She pulled hard enough that Phoenix felt the oversized plush getting squashed between them, as if the toy itself was joining in her pleading.

Phoenix's every parental instinct screamed at him to refuse, every protective nerve in his body firing warnings. Leaving Trucy alone with Larry felt roughly equivalent to handing a lit match to a pyrotechnician and hoping for the best possible outcome. But the objection died on his tongue before he could voice it as Trucy clasped Larry's free hand with complete trust, her laughter bubbling up freely as she allowed herself to be pulled into the moving crowd. The oversized plush bounced against her side with each step, and within moments the throng had swallowed them completely, Trucy's distinctive blue yukata disappearing among dozens of others until Phoenix couldn't distinguish her anymore. A firework cracked the sky open overhead, raining brilliant red and green light down on the festival grounds. The main display had already begun.

"Trucy—!" Phoenix lunged forward instinctively, his hand reaching out that felt utterly useless, only to find himself anchored in place by a firm hand settling on his shoulder.

"She'll be fine," Miles said, though his eyes remained locked on the spot where Trucy had vanished into the crowd. He turned his head to meet Phoenix's wide, worried gaze directly. "Larry is undoubtedly a fool in many respects, but he's not a negligent one. And Trucy possesses a force of will that could bend steel when properly motivated."

Phoenix's pulse hammered frantically against his ribs, his hands trembling slightly despite Miles's reassurance. "...Yeah. You're right." He knew it was true on a rational level, but the primal fear of losing her still clawed viciously.

Another report shook the air as a second firework exploded overhead, and Phoenix felt Miles's hand—still resting on his shoulder—twitch involuntarily at the sudden noise. That barely perceptible reaction told Phoenix everything he needed to know, even as Miles's expression remained controlled. The prosecutor was trying so hard to mask it, to pretend he wasn't still haunted by the sound of that gunshot from so many years ago, the one that had changed everything. Miles's hand slipped off Phoenix's shoulder almost immediately, his fingers folding inward as he crossed his arms, clearly refusing to acknowledge that the sound had affected him at all.

Phoenix's own hand twitched at his side, the impulse to reach out and take Miles's wrist rising so strongly he almost couldn't suppress it—but the movement faltered before he could complete it. His fingers curled uselessly into his palm instead. What right did he have to offer comfort when he was the one drowning? He was disbarred, nothing more than a shadow of what he'd once been. And what if Miles had only agreed to come tonight for Trucy's sake—or worse, what if this was all rooted in some misplaced sense of obligation, pity dressed up in the more palatable clothing of friendship because Miles was too kind to simply walk away?

Instead of reaching out, Phoenix lifted his hand in a small wave and tilted his head toward a direction that would take them away from the main crowd. "C'mon," he said softly, offering what he hoped was an escape route.

Miles stared at him for one prolonged moment before finally following alongside Phoenix. They slipped free of the pressing throng together, weaving carefully between clusters of festivalgoers until the noise dulled into a more distant hum that felt almost bearable. Phoenix's shoulder brushed against Miles's once, then twice as they walked, and he told himself firmly that it was just the result of navigating the crowd, nothing more deliberate than coincidence and proximity.

A rise near the edge of the festival grounds offered them the breathing room, along with an expansive view of the fireworks display that stretched across the night sky. The location reminded him of that spot they'd found years ago, where the explosions felt more muffled and distant, less like the sharp cracks that made Miles flinch. Here, the bursts painted the darkness in cascading waves of vibrant color—blues bleeding into golds, reds dissolving into silvers—while the grass beneath their geta sandals showed patches of bare dirt worn down by countless festival-goers over the years.

Phoenix swallowed hard enough that he heard the click in his throat, noticing how close they were standing. "Well... looks like it's just us," he said, the words slipping out before he could think better of them. Under his breath, he added, "Again."

Miles turned slightly, and the firelight traced the line of his profile, catching on the bridge of his glasses and making them gleam. "Indeed," he answered.

Another volley of fireworks thundered overhead, painting the sky in streaks of silver and red that reflected off the low-hanging smoke. Phoenix made a show of watching the display, tracking the way the sparks arced and fell like dying stars, but his attention kept getting pulled back like a compass needle that only pointed in one direction—toward the man standing beside him. They were alone now, and all the questions he'd been suppressing, all the confrontations he'd been avoiding, were pressing against the inside of his chest.

He looked at Miles standing there in that elegant yukata, not a thing out of order, the very picture of success and stability and everything Phoenix wasn't anymore. The contrast between them felt almost unbearable—Miles with his prestigious position and his penthouse apartment and his life that made perfect sense, while Phoenix's existence consisted of a cramped apartment with water stains spreading across the ceiling, piano gigs in smoky clubs and poker games in even smokier back rooms, the constant low-grade financial panic that woke him to do desperate math in his head. He was a building with a ruined foundation, and having Miles here felt like trying to prop up a collapsing house with a marble pillar. It couldn't last. It wasn't fair to ask the pillar to stay when the whole structure was going to come down eventually anyway.

"Do you even like fireworks?" Phoenix asked, the question hovering between joke and curiosity. "They don't really seem very 'Miles Edgeworth' to me."

"I can appreciate them when experienced in moderation," Miles replied, keeping his eyes fixed on the distant bursts of light. "This location is certainly preferable to the main viewing area."

Phoenix shoved his hands deeper into his sleeves, feeling the fabric bunch uncomfortably at his wrists. "Yeah. Me too." He stared down at his geta sandals, scuffing the wood against the gravel to have something to do with the nervous energy coursing through him, listening to the dry scrape of it. "You know... you didn't have to say yes to all this," he said. "I know your time is... scarce." He felt like a man asking for a moment of a billionaire's attention.

Miles's gaze remained fixed on the horizon. The statement didn't even make him flinch. "I am perfectly aware of my own schedule, Wright."

"But why?" The question escaped before Phoenix could stop it, and he winced at how desperate he sounded. He scrambled to clarify, to make it sound less pathetic. In the brutal economy of his life since the disbarment, nothing was ever given without something being taken in return. What was Miles paying for by being here? What was the hidden cost Phoenix would eventually have to face?

"I mean, a Chief Prosecutor spending his evening at a crowded summer festival... it's pretty far removed from what I imagine your usual activities involve. Important meetings and all that." He forced out a weak laugh. "I just figured you might have had... other obligations tonight. More important things to attend to." He let the implication hang there for a beat, making him feel sick. "Or more…important people to spend time with."

The silence stretched uncomfortably before he backtracked, the insecurity curdling into petty jealousy even as the words left his mouth. "Why did you agree to come so easily when I called?"

Miles turned to face him fully now, his expression settling into a frown. "My presence here tonight is entirely a choice I made of my own volition. Why on earth would you feel the need to ask me that?"

Phoenix's hands balled into fists inside his sleeves. "So... why do you keep acting like I'm someone worth saving? Like, I'm a project you need to fix?"

Miles's eyebrow arched sharply as he blinked at the sudden confrontation. "I beg your pardon?"

Phoenix stepped forward before he could stop himself, and Miles stepped back as Phoenix's brows furrowed. "Is that why you're really here? Because you pity Trucy and me? Or do you just pity what I've turned into since you knew me back when I actually had my life together?"

He hated himself for asking, despised the vulnerability these questions exposed, but the fear had been gnawing at him for too long now, and he couldn't keep it buried anymore. Their arguments about Phoenix's financial situation, about Miles trying to help, had never reached this point before—they'd always pulled back before things got too raw. But Phoenix had finally hit his breaking point. He felt tears gathering unwelcome at the corners of his eyes, and he refused to let Miles see him as nothing more than an object of pity, someone to feel sorry for.

The words kept spilling out now that he'd started. "I lost everything, Miles. My badge, my reputation, my entire identity. I have a daughter to raise on a gambling player's salary and a name that's been dragged through so much mud I can barely show my face in legal circles anymore. Every time I step into a courtroom as a civilian, people look at me like I'm a disgrace, like I'm someone who fell from grace and deserved it. And yet you keep coming back, you keep inserting yourself into my life, you keep trying to help. Why? Just tell me why!"

The whispers behind raised hands when he walked into a room, the way people's gazes would slide away when he tried to make eye contact, the newspaper headlines that had called him a fraud and a disgraced attorney. He was the man who'd had everything that defined him stripped away in public view, and he'd never fully recovered from it.

"Wright." Miles's voice made Phoenix refocus on him. "None of what I do has ever been motivated by pity. I didn't come here tonight out of pity for you or for your daughter. If you truly believe that's the foundation of my continued presence in your life..." His eyes were wounded. "Then you've misunderstood me and my intentions entirely."

Phoenix's throat constricted painfully, making it difficult to draw a full breath. "Sorry. I didn't mean to—" The apology shattered before he could complete it as the deeper truth forced its way out. "For years after it happened, I'd wake up every morning and reach instinctively for a badge that wasn't there anymore. I'd start to straighten a suit jacket I no longer owned because I couldn't afford to replace the one that got ruined." His hand moved unconsciously to that empty space where the badge used to rest against his heart. "Every time I looked in the mirror, all I could see staring back at me was a failure. Someone who'd let everyone down."

Miles remained silent for a long moment, his gaze unwavering enough that Phoenix felt pinned in place by it. "Do not allow yourself to forget the brilliant attorney you are, Wright—with or without that piece of metal pinned to your lapel. The badge was never what made you an attorney. Your mind, your dedication to the truth, your refusal to back down—those are what defined you."

The comment was clearly meant to be reassuring, maybe even kind, but it landed like a dismissal of every sleepless night Phoenix had spent staring at his ceiling in the dark, every moment of pride he'd felt when he looked at that polished metal, every ounce of identity and purpose that small symbolic object had represented to him. It might have been the truth from Miles's perspective, perhaps even an objective truth, but it was a truth spoken by someone who had never experienced having it violently ripped away, who couldn't fully understand what that loss actually meant.

"You haven't surrendered to this situation, Wright. You've only buried the part of yourself that still believes you can reclaim what was taken. But we both know that belief is still there, somewhere beneath all this self-imposed defeat."

"That's not—" Phoenix started to protest, but Miles cut him off.

"You're bluffing, the beanie you insist on wearing everywhere, that self-deprecating smirk you've perfected, the way you've adopted this whole defeated persona—it's a performance, Wright. I remember the man who stood in that courtroom and demanded the truth regardless of the personal cost, who refused to accept convenient lies even when they would have been easier. That man hasn't disappeared. He's not gone."

Phoenix shook his head. His hands reached up without thought to grip Miles's shoulders, and he let his head drop forward to rest against Miles's chest, no longer able to hold himself upright. "I'm not him anymore," he said, and he couldn't stop the tears that finally fell. "I can't be him anymore."

"You are," Miles replied. "You're simply harder to reach now. You've built walls that didn't exist before, but the foundation is still there."

Phoenix tried to swallow past a lump, finding it impossible to pull away from this position even though part of him knew he should. He stared down at their feet, both clad in geta sandals, watching as his tears fell and darkened the wood. He sniffled several times, nearly hiccupping when he couldn't seem to stop the tears from coming, and his fingers clenched tighter on Miles's shoulders as if he was the only solid thing in Phoenix's rapidly tilting world.

"Do you recall," Miles began carefully, "when I was accused of murder? The Hammond case."

Phoenix managed a nod against Miles's chest, though he didn't lift his face to meet his eyes.

"At the time, I was convinced you pitied me," Miles continued. "I genuinely believed you stood in my defense purely out of some sense of obligation, perhaps because of our childhood connection. I thought you saw me as a pathetic figure who needed rescuing. Yet throughout that entire ordeal, you never once treated me like an object of pity or someone to feel sorry for. You fought for me as if my innocence truly mattered to you. You stood against everyone—the witnesses, the prosecution, public opinion—because you believed in me when no one else did."

Phoenix finally lifted his gaze, finding Miles's eyes already on him.

"I've never forgotten what that meant to me," Miles said. "I never will." He faltered, gathering his thoughts. "Wright, you are everything my father had hoped I would become. Every quality my father hoped I would possess—integrity, compassion, an unwavering dedication to justice—you embody them effortlessly. I can only aspire to become half the man you are."

"Miles, I'm not—" Phoenix started, but Miles pressed on, refusing to be interrupted.

"Listen to me," Miles said. "The courtroom needs attorneys who refuse to compromise their principles, who see defendants as people rather than case numbers, who fight for the truth even when it's inconvenient. You need the courtroom, Wright—and it needs you. You never gave up on my life. I refuse to give up on yours."

"I didn't pity you back then," Phoenix admitted after another sniffle, and he released his grip on Miles's shoulders, letting his arms fall to his sides as he took a step back. "It was... it was so much more than that."

"Then afford me the same dignity now, Wright," Miles replied, maintaining their eye contact. "I don't pity you either. I never have. What I feel is considerably more complicated than that."

"Fair enough," Phoenix murmured, pressing his lips together as he processed that loaded statement before moving to stand beside Miles again, both of them facing the fireworks display once more.

More explosions ignited above them in relentless succession, lighting their faces in strobing bursts of color that shifted too quickly to track. The crowd's reactions rolled toward them like distant thunder, yet neither man looked away from the show overhead.

Phoenix found his thoughts drifting to all of their arguments over the years, all the moments Miles had chosen to stay when leaving would have been easier, the way he'd rushed to Phoenix's apartment the moment he'd heard the news about the disbarment. He felt almost ashamed now for doubting the sincerity of Miles's intentions, for projecting his own insecurities onto someone who'd never given him actual reason to question his motives. Desperate to lighten the oppressive tension before it made things irreparably awkward between them, Phoenix cleared his throat. "Hey, Edgeworth... do you still have that Steel Samurai toy I gave you?"

The question clearly caught Miles off guard, his head turning sharply toward Phoenix. "What?"

"You know," Phoenix continued, a sheepish smile breaking across his face. "From that festival we went to years ago, back before everything went to hell. I slipped you one of the toys I'd won. I wasn't actually sure if you'd kept it after that night." His laugh stumbled out self-consciously. "Honestly, I just sort of assumed you probably tossed it in the trash the next day. It was cheap plastic, after all."

Miles kept his eyes on Phoenix for a long moment before returning his attention to the fireworks. "I still have it."

Phoenix blinked, certain he must have misheard over the sound of the explosions. "You... what?"

Miles's jaw visibly tightened, and Phoenix noticed the subtle rise of color creeping across his cheeks. He reached up to adjust his glasses. "I said, I still have it in my study at home. It's become somewhat worn over the years from being moved around, but—" He paused. "It was a gift from you. I don't discard those lightly."

Phoenix felt his smile falter and then disappear entirely as a flush of heat spread to his ears. He coughed to cover his reaction, turning his gaze back to the night sky. "I'm glad you kept it. That means... that means more than you probably realize."

The finale began thundering above them in a relentless storm of fire and light, the explosions coming so rapidly they blurred together into one continuous roar that Phoenix could feel reverberating in his chest.

His hand hung at his side, trembling slightly. Before reason or self-preservation could properly restrain the impulse, he let the back of his hand tilt just slightly to graze against Miles's knuckles. The contact was fleeting. Miles didn't pull away or recoil. His hand remained exactly where it was, the stillness conveying what felt like an acceptance rather than mere tolerance.

Phoenix stood frozen in place, his heart hammering so loudly he was certain Miles must be able to hear it over the fireworks. He let his fingers drift once more in what felt like a final desperate gesture, his pinky catching briefly against Miles's in a touch that could have been accidental but wasn't. Then, as another massive burst of white light shattered overhead and painted them both in its glow, he reluctantly withdrew  his hand.

The finale closed with one last tremendous detonation of white sparks that seemed to consume the entire sky before fading gradually into a rolling silence.The night settled back into itself, the darkness now hazed with drifting smoke.

"Daddy! Mr. Edgeworth!"

Trucy's excitement rang out across the clearing, and Phoenix felt his entire body jolt. His hand jerked away from Miles's, seeming guilty, and he found himself fumbling to arrange his face into something that wouldn't tell what had just passed between them.

Trucy came rushing toward them, her feet pounding while the enormous rabbit plush bounced in her arms, threatening to escape her grip. Her cheeks were flushed bright.

"Nick! Edgey!" Larry's voice followed close behind, and Phoenix caught sight of him stumbling after Trucy with his yukata in complete disarray, one sleeve sliding dangerously off his shoulder. His girlfriend trailed alongside him. "You guys totally disappeared on us! But man, wasn't that finale incredible? We had the best seat in the entire festival—you should've come with us!"

Phoenix shoved his hands deep into the folds of his sleeves. "Y-yeah," he managed. "It was… something else, that's for sure."

"If one considers being nearly trampled by an undisciplined mob of overexcited festivalgoers to constitute a 'best seat'," Miles remarked toward Larry's more absurd pronouncements, "then perhaps your assessment has merit."

Trucy spun in a circle, her yukata sleeves fluttering around her like wings. "This is the best summer ever!" she declared.

•••

By the time they made it back to the apartment, the city had settled into its nighttime routine. The climb up the narrow stairwell included Trucy's sleepy sighs and the protesting creak of old wood beneath their feet. She'd fallen completely asleep against Phoenix's shoulder at some point during the walk home, her arms hanging slack around the oversized rabbit plush, and the fabric of her yukata had grown damp with sweat where it pressed against him in the lingering summer heat. Phoenix adjusted his hold carefully, trying to redistribute her weight as the ache in his shoulders intensified from carrying her, and she stirred just enough to mumble something incomprehensible about goldfish before slipping back under.

"Here," Miles murmured quietly, reaching to relieve her of the cumbersome toy. His fingers brushed against Phoenix's arm as he took the plush, the contact lasting barely a second but somehow managing to send awareness sparking across Phoenix's skin despite the innocuous nature of the touch.

Phoenix carried Trucy to her futon, gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from her forehead. She immediately curled herself around the plush when Miles set it beside her, her small hand fisting possessively in its soft fur even in sleep.

When he finally straightened and turned away, Miles was waiting by the door with his arms loosely folded. The balcony beckoned them, and when they stepped outside, Phoenix felt the breeze hit his overheated skin like a benediction. The metal railing retained the day's accumulated heat when Phoenix rested his palms against it, the warmth seeping into his skin.

Almost against his will, Phoenix found his gaze drifting sideways and catching on the exposed hollow of Miles's throat again, where his yukata had shifted slightly open. He'd stolen far too many glances at that particular stretch of skin throughout the day, each time accompanied by dirty thoughts. He tore his eyes away with effort, his mouth suddenly dry as desert sand, fumbling internally for something to say before the weighted silence could stretch long enough to betray the direction of his thoughts.

"Thanks for today," he uttered, leaning more heavily against the railing as if the physical grounding might help center him. "Trucy had the time of her life. It meant more than I can say."

Miles inclined his head. "You don't need to thank me. Trucy is… remarkable in her own right. Her capacity for joy is genuinely disarming to witness. The entire evening was—" He hesitated, and his fingers drifted along the railing until they rested near Phoenix's. "—pleasant."

Phoenix felt a smile tugging at his lips. "You can just say you had fun, you know. It's not a legally binding admission."

Miles gave a faint huff. "Perhaps I did have what could reasonably be classified as 'fun', then."

The city's constant low thrum filled the space between them, a backdrop of ambient noise that somehow made the silence feel less oppressive.

Miles straightened after a moment, the movement drawing Phoenix's attention back to him. "I should be going. It's later than I intended to stay, and you need to rest."

"Edgeworth—wait," Phoenix said, panic fluttering in his chest at the thought of Miles leaving, not with so much still unresolved between them.

Miles paused mid-turn, puzzlement creasing his brow as he looked back. "Wright? Is something wrong?"

"I'm... I'm sorry for earlier tonight," Phoenix forced out, the apology feeling inadequate even as he spoke it. "I had no reason to lash out at you the way I did. I completely misunderstood your intentions, your motivations for being here, and... I should have known better. Especially given how long we've known each other, how long you've been putting up with me." He swallowed hard, the movement traveling visibly down his throat, and took a step closer. His geta scraped softly against the concrete balcony floor. "But I think... I think I need one more thing from you tonight, because I'm not sure I can survive another night without it."

Even now, he could still retreat from this precipice. He could laugh it off, make some deflecting joke about the festival or the late hour or how the fireworks must have addled his brain, preserve the equilibrium they'd maintained for years. But the thought of letting this specific moment pass, of watching Miles walk away and spending yet another night alone with nothing but his regrets and what-ifs for company…He could not do that.

Before fear could successfully drag him back from the edge and before Miles could ask him to clarify what he meant, Phoenix closed the remaining distance between them and leaned in to press their lips together. The kiss started uncertain, almost trembling. Phoenix could taste the faint ghost of tea Miles must have drunk earlier.

Miles went still. For one terrible moment, Phoenix thought he'd catastrophically misread everything, that he'd just destroyed whatever existed between them. But Miles didn't pull away, didn't shove him back, or retreat. The hesitation stretched for no more than a breath before Miles's hand lifted to settle over Phoenix's, where it had fisted in the fabric of Miles's sleeve, clutching like a drowning man grabbing for a lifeline.

Then, slowly, Miles began to kiss him back.

Phoenix felt Miles's free hand come up to cradle his jaw. Miles's palm was warm and smooth against his cheek, his thumb tracing along Phoenix's cheekbone. The kiss deepened, growing more insistent as Phoenix's other hand came up to curl around the back of Miles's neck, his fingers threading through the fine hair at his nape. He could feel Miles's pulse jumping rapidly beneath his fingertips. Phoenix pressed closer, eliminating what little space remained between their bodies, and Miles moaned against his mouth. Phoenix's lips parted, searching, and Miles responded in kind.

Phoenix felt his knees genuinely weaken at the intensity of it. His fingers tightened reflexively in Miles's yukata. The prosecutor's other hand had moved to Phoenix's waist, pulling him closer.

They finally broke apart when the need for oxygen became unavoidable, both of them breathing hard, their foreheads coming to rest against each other as they struggled to remember to breathe.

"I'm glad you were here today," Phoenix swallowed saliva for his dry throat. He smiled against Miles's mouth, unable to help himself. "I'm glad you're here now."

Miles's eyes opened slowly; they were so close that Phoenix could distinguish every shade of gray in his irises. "So am I," Miles replied. "More than I think I can adequately express."

Miles's thumb traced along Phoenix's jaw again, and then came that hint of familiar prosecutorial scrutiny. "Though I must say, Wright, you smell distinctly of cigarette smoke." He paused, his lips quirking in what might have been amusement. "If we're going to pursue this... properly, that's a habit you'll need to address."

Phoenix felt embarrassment and the absurd desire to laugh. "Are you seriously lecturing me about my smoking right now, Edgeworth?"

"I'm merely stating a fact," Miles said, though his eyes were too warm for the primness in his voice. "One hardly wants to be kissing an ashtray on a regular basis."

"Right now you kind of do, apparently," Phoenix quipped, unable to resist.

Miles's lips curved slightly, repressing a grin. "Perhaps. But I maintain my point stands."

Reluctantly, feeling like he was tearing himself away from something essential, Phoenix pulled back just far enough to see Miles's face properly. His hand slid from Miles's neck to rest against his chest. "Well, text me when you get home safely, okay? We... we have significantly more to discuss now, I think. A lot more than cigarettes."

After a long moment of studying him, Miles smiled. It felt precious, a look Phoenix understood instinctively was meant for him and him alone. "I would be happy to have that conversation."

Phoenix glanced through the window toward where Trucy slept peacefully inside, then back at Miles, already mourning the loss of proximity even though Miles hadn't moved yet. "Drive safe," he murmured, managing a small wave as Miles stepped back and made his way toward the stairs.

Miles gave a nod of acknowledgment, his fingers lingering on the railing as if equally reluctant to leave. Phoenix stayed exactly where he was, watching Miles descend the stairwell, aware of the ghost of their kiss that remained, a slight swelling he could explore with his tongue. Left alone on the balcony, Phoenix lifted a trembling hand to touch his mouth, his fingers pressing gently against lips that still felt sensitized.

Miles hadn't just attended a festival with them tonight. He'd joined them, become part of Trucy's joy and Phoenix's reconstructed life, and solidified his place in their small family. Though if Phoenix was being completely honest with himself, Miles had always been part of their family.

Phoenix remained there on the balcony with his fingers still pressed to his lips, replaying every moment, until his phone buzzed insistently in his sleeve. He fumbled to pull it out, his hands still unsteady, and the message waiting for him was brief:

He read it three times, absorbing each word, before responding:

Then, before he could second-guess the impulse or talk himself out of it, he typed out three more words:

The response came faster than he'd expected, and Phoenix had to read it twice to believe it was real:

Phoenix saved the message immediately, then read it again to confirm it actually said what he thought it said, that he hadn't imagined those particular words appearing on his screen. For the first time in seven years, he started to believe that things were finally starting to move in the right direction.