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Phoenix stared dumbly at his reflection. The single word in the mirror stared back at him, opaque, enigmatic, almost mocking in its simplicity. It was supposed to reveal his soulmate's first words to him, and with it, their identity. He had eagerly awaited his sixteenth birthday, wondering if it was someone he'd already met. Also likely was that the line would be unfamiliar, heralding a future fated encounter. He hadn't even considered this third possibility. He swallowed, a twinge of despair swirling in a sea of confusion.
In clean, elegant script, directly over his heart, read a single word: Hello.
*
"That's a bummer," Larry said, peering over his shoulder.
Phoenix nodded mutely. It could be any number of people, he thought, his mind spinning through years and greetings, trying to recall all the people: classmates, friends, and chance acquaintances, who had introduced themselves with that simple word.
The sad part was, for the most part, he simply wasn't sure. Myriads of introductions began with Hello: It was the usual thing to say. He was certain to meet many more that way. It simply didn't leave an impression, so he couldn't even tell if it was someone he already knew. . . .
"Oh my god, are you my soulmate?" Larry shrieked, interrupting his spiraling thoughts.
"WHAT? GAACK!" Phoenix flinched and staggered ten feet back.
Larry looked in a panic, flailing away and cringing. The word Hey! was clearly visible on his raised forearm. "My soulmate is supposed to be a hot girl!" he wailed.
"Is that how our first meeting went?" Phoenix tried to remember. Hello. Hey! An ordinary, common first meeting. His thoughtful expression fell into a grimace. "I can't rule it out."
He certainly hoped it wasn't true.
"Ha! You sound just like a lawyer! Miles really rubbed off on you," Larry teased. "I wonder how he's doing."
Phoenix bristled. "Probably not great, given how his father died," he replied testily.
"Whoa whoa, no need to bite my head off!"
"Sorry." Phoenix sighed. He stared out the window to the east, in the direction of Germany, and let his thoughts wander. I wonder what Miles's soul mark says. I wonder if he's found his soulmate. At least his isn't Larry. Probably.
It wasn't that he minded boys being soulmates with boys—it was just the idea of, well, Larry. Honestly, he wouldn't have minded Miles so much. But Miles's first words to him had been either Objection! or, if that had been directed at the entire class, perhaps It wasn't you who stole my money, was it? They didn't really talk much before that class trial. Phoenix wasn't sure of the exact rules for which words the soul mark would pick up, but either way it wasn't Hello.
He was driving himself in circles. He resolved to introduce himself with a catchphrase from then on. If he loved (or would one day love) his soulmate, the least he could do was spare them the torment of an ambiguous soul mark.
*
Dahlia's eyes widened at Phoenix's first awkward, stumbling words. "It's you, my soulmate," she gushed, her voice as lovely as the fluttering pink petals dotting her dress, as sweet as the soft blush spreading across her delicate face.
Had she said Hello? Phoenix was honestly so dazed he couldn't remember his own words. What he'd said was much more distinctive. Embarrassingly, unmistakably so, that he believed her without a second thought.
In their eight months together, he dimly pitied Dollie—such a lovely maiden shouldn't be cursed with whatever version of "erm umm oh my g-gosh you're amazing h-hello" he'd managed to stammer out. Never once did he blame her for refusing to show him ("It's private, I'd be ever so embarrassed," she'd protested). He supposed he'd be self-conscious about such an awkward soul mark too.
*
After the revelation of Dahlia's true plans for him, he thought back to his first meeting with Mia in the detention center.
"Hello," Mia had said. "You must be Phoenix Wright."
He didn't know if it counted: Surely fate could have picked up the whole greeting and not left him with just the first word. A few more words would've been helpful, he thought for the thousandth time. But perhaps fate had intentionally spared him: Having You must be Phoenix Wright tattooed on his own chest would have been awkward, not to mention a touch narcissistic. He shook the meandering thoughts from his head. It was for the best, he firmly told himself.
"Yes, that's me," he'd replied at the time, a wholly unremarkable reply. In all the years he studied under her, she'd never given any indication of having soulmate feelings towards him, romantic or otherwise. Perhaps in the stress of the moment, she'd taken no notice of his words. Or perhaps, like him, she'd heard them dozens of times before.
But none of that was on his mind in the darkened, bloodied office when, sobbing and shaking, Phoenix fumbled for her pulse and glimpsed the line of thin ink winding around her wrist: What's a kitten doing in the lion's den?
*
Iris's confession was years of baggage off his chest, sweet as the fluttering breeze, lovely as the radiant dawn. All the tender feelings burst into roaring flame, breaking free of where he'd shoved them down, down into darkness and out of sight, buried somewhere beneath guilt (If I hadn't taken her "gift", Doug Swallow would still be alive) and shame (How could I have been so gullible?).
He hadn't known then when he'd met Iris for the first time, much less the significance of however "Dollie" had greeted him on one day or another. Iris's first words to him were lost to time. Hello was within the realm of possibility.
He tried to bring it up delicately, as she was led away. "What we had. . . was it real?"
She immediately saw right through him. "I love you, Feenie, but you are not my soulmate. I don't have a soulmate," she said, her eyes at once pained and determined.
"But. . . not all people end up with their soulmates. We could make a fresh start," Phoenix tried
Iris shook her head. "They do not, but your feelings for me. . . they have changed too, have they not?"
And they had, Phoenix realized, the truth of the words shining through the mass of deception, despair, and denial twisting his heart. He let Iris's confession wash over him, a chapter closing, a resolution. It truly was a fresh start, just not the kind he had proposed. "You really are the person I always thought you were," he said.
Iris smiled then, her luminous eyes shining with pooled tears, and he knew she'd heard what he hadn't said.
*
Kristoph pronounced the word carefully, a sinister sheen reflecting from his glasses and obscuring his eyes. "Hello."
Ah. So he knows. Phoenix allowed his eyes to widen with guileless naïveté, releasing his breath in a small gasp. The handsome, elegantly-styled attorney smiled back, and Phoenix acted the part of the vulnerable sap, leading him to believe that he'd fallen for the intentionally crinkled eyes, the gentle tilt of the head.
He made a mental note to thank Trucy later, the direction and pressure of her fingers alerting him to the glimpse of platinum-blond hair lurking in the shadows.
And so the poker game began, and the stakes were life and death. Three dates in, Phoenix coyly revealed his soul mark, and with feigned innocence, asked to see Kristoph's. He was not surprised to see Thanks for sticking up for me! scrawled along Kristoph's hip—the man was a meticulous planner.
That night after closing hours, he lay thrown over the Borscht Bowl's poker table, Kristoph sweaty and naked and rutting into him. Phoenix moaned inarticulately and gripped Kristoph by the hips, fingers digging into his skin, pulling him closer.
And after he left, Phoenix inspected his thumb in the dim light and found traces of blue ink.
*
"Oh god, I'm gonna have to marry Larry," Phoenix groaned.
Edgeworth actually spluttered at that, and his hand fell still. His mouth opened and closed twice before he settled on "Wright, what the fuck?"
"I've been denying it since I was sixteen, since I got my soul mark. But I might just be running from the truth," Phoenix explained, waving his hands haphazardly around.
Edgeworth only looked more confused. . . and incensed. "You ridiculous, brainless dolt. Why would you even say such a thing with your head in my lap, while I'm petting your hair?"
Phoenix sat up. "It's my soul mark," he explained, lifting up his shirt, the single word as inscrutable as ever. "I've met hundreds of people that way!"
Edgeworth stared at him in uncomprehending shock. "But why did you kiss me if. . . ?"
"Because I like you. Love you, even! And I got selfish; I wanted it so bad that I just went for it. I've loved you for years, Miles, you have no idea how hard it was to hold back all this time." Phoenix looked away. "I just. . . didn't want to make it any harder than it had to be, when you found your soulmate."
The seconds ticked by. Edgeworth seemed to actually be speechless. Then he sighed loudly and dramatically, caught Phoenix by the chin, and pulled, firmly bringing them face-to-face. Phoenix chanced a look at him and cringed: if looks could kill. . . .
"Sorry," Phoenix added.
"You. . . unbelievable! Ugh why do I tolerate you," Edgeworth ground out. "It's me, you fool. Me. I'm your soulmate."
Phoenix blinked. "But that can't be. . . your first words to me were either Objection! or It wasn't you who stole—"
"And your memory is as clear as your grasp on evidence law. No, I met you the first day of school, remember?"
"What?" Phoenix thought hard. "Oh yeah! You walked around to each student in the class and said Hello. . . oh wow. . . ." Phoenix trailed off, replaying each of their court cases in his mind, twenty-five years of shared history turned on its head all at once.
Edgeworth waited, arms crossed and fingers tapping, glaring haughtily down his nose while Phoenix gradually reoriented his entire worldview.
"Why didn't you say?" Phoenix finally asked.
It was Edgeworth's turn to look sheepish. "Yes, verily, you see," he began vaguely. "I was in Germany when I turned sixteen. I couldn't exactly tell von Karma. . . then I was the demon prosecutor who thought I'd killed my own father. . . then this happened and that happened. . . there was never a right time."
Phoenix nodded sympathetically. "That's. . . yeah. Fair." He took both of Edgeworth's hands in his and continued earnestly, "Um, Miles? You. . . you really don't have to be my soulmate if you don't want to be. I mean, there's no changing that, but we don't have to be, well, together."
"I wouldn't have it any other way."
Phoenix grinned and pulled him in for a quick kiss, when another thought crossed his mind. "Miles? How could you tell?"
"Hmm?"
"Your soul mark, I mean. How could you tell that it was me?"
"Oh, that." Edgeworth gave a small smirk. "Perhaps I'd best show you."
"Are you propositioning me?" Phoenix teased.
"Depends on your answer," Edgeworth teased back, pulling Phoenix into his bedroom and shrugging off his jacket. Slowly, painstakingly, he unbuttoned his white button-down, one button at a time, never breaking eye contact. He turned away and gestured meaningfully at Phoenix, inviting him to pull the shirt off his back.
With shaking fingers, Phoenix reached out and grasped the shirt by the collar, easing it off Edgeworth's shoulders. He gasped.
There, between the pale shoulder blades ran the unmistakable words: Hi, my name is Phoenix Wright.