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Miles Edgeworth’s car was difficult to miss. The sleek sports car was a loud, flashy red clear of any bumper stickers or adornments, and it never had a scratch. After seeing it so often before and after trials, and of course, after analyzing it closely for Lana’s case, Phoenix would recognize that car anywhere.
Or, at least he thought he would. For the rest of that month, each bike ride to the Wright & Co. Law Offices brought a chill greater than the final gusts of the dying winter with every red blur that passed by on the street.
Phoenix was always certain it was his car. It must have been.
It never was.
For the first few weeks, he would gasp at the sight of red and search the faces through the windows, only to find strangers looking back in confusion.
In the summer, he would analyze each red vehicle more closely before hoping, and only looked if there was a real chance he might be there, living, breathing, and driving like nothing had ever happened. He never was.
In the fall, he would hesitate when passing a red car, but he would still keep pedaling. He couldn’t stop himself from doing double takes sometimes, but he kept reminding himself to move along. Keep on pedaling.
By the end of the next winter, he stopped looking. Stopped hoping. But his shoulders still tensed with every passing red car. He tried to let go, to keep on pedaling, but after clinging to someone from afar for so long, his body seemed to be used to the waiting. The hoping. The delusion. He wasn’t sure if it would ever go away. He wished it would.
On the way to the Grand Prix with Maya and Pearl in early spring, a red car stopped beside them on the congested street as they walked on the sidewalk. He wasn’t whizzing by on his bike this time around; he was walking. He could have stopped to look. He didn’t. But his eyes still caught the movement. His mind still made a note of it. He still tensed.
He didn’t care for the Hero of Heroes Grand Prix, but Maya did. He loved both her and Pearls, and even if he didn’t watch a single episode of whatever shows were competing, he would be there, so they could enjoy it. He knew he would, too, as long as he was with them. Every explanation Maya gave was met with a tired sigh and every accusation of being old was met with annoyed defensiveness, but there was no place he would rather be, no other place he should be. It was with them when the world felt like it didn’t fall off its axis, like the pillars supporting his entire being hadn’t crumbled with five words on a slip of paper. It was with them when things almost felt normal.
And then he’d glance out the window and catch the sight of the kaleidoscope of colors that covered the street.
He wondered when red would be just another color again.
The wind whipped through Phoenix’s hair as he sped down the bike lane. The ride to Wright & Co. Law Offices was as uneventful as usual, every sight along his route seen and examined enough for a lifetime.
He biked past the cherry blossoms in bloom for the spring, past storefronts and apartment complexes, past people walking down the street, past that one burger joint Maya liked, past the movie theater he brought Pearls to once, past Edgeworth’s car waiting at a stoplight…
…
Edgeworth’s car?
Phoenix whipped his head around, and, sure enough, he was met with silvery bangs and a maroon suit through the window. The man was tapping his finger against the steering wheel, narrowed eyes trained on the road ahead.
He was there. He was really there, living, breathing, and driving like nothing had ever happened.
Edgeworth’s eyes flitted toward Phoenix, eyebrows knit in concentration as they usually were. His eyes widened.
While turned around, Phoenix didn’t check his path in his peripheral vision. He didn’t keep his hands steady on the handlebars. And he didn’t stop pedaling.
The front wheel of the bike rammed right into the curb, but instead of climbing it, the wheel snapped sideways against it and skidded along the side of it, bringing the bike to a shuddering halt.
His loose grip and lack of attention led to the only possible outcome.
Phoenix flew off the bike towards the sidewalk, only what greeted him wasn’t a bed of grass, a bush, or even the concrete sidewalk, but instead the pole holding up the traffic light. He barely had time to register what was happening when his head hit the pole and his world faded to black.
…
…
…
The ground was rough.
“...ight….”
There was very little air in his lungs.
“...are you…”
A dull pain pulsed through his head.
“...Wright!”
Phoenix opened his eyes.
The world was far too bright and blurry for his liking. The fuzzy shapes seemed to suggest he was sitting on a sidewalk next to the road, though he couldn’t really be sure. Was that someone looking down at him?
With great effort, Phoenix raised his hand to find the location of the pain in his skull. It wasn’t a very smart thing to do.
“Ow…”
“Wright, can you hear me?”
His eyes adjusted, seeing the features of the man in front of him. He was kneeling on the ground, looking intently at him with stormy-gray eyes. He was wearing a suit. A maroon suit. A red suit.
Miles Edgeworth, his mind supplied. But it couldn’t be. Miles Edgeworth couldn’t be in front of him. Miles Edgeworth was supposed to be…
“Am I dead?” he groaned, his voice weak and gravely. “Am I dying?”
“No,” Edgeworth snapped, glaring at him. “You are not dying, and you will do no such thing.”
“Oh.” He kept staring at the man that must have been Miles Edgeworth. What other options were there? “Then…is this a dream?”
Edgeworth reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Stop speaking nonsense and tell me what you are feeling so I can tell the hospital.”
“Hospital?” Phoenix shook his head determinedly. “I don’t need a hospital.”
“You are not thinking straight and are clearly in a lot of pain. You need medical attention,” he insisted, his fingers moving swiftly over the phone screen. Were his hands shaking? “I’ll take you there in my car.”
“Your car.” Phoenix blinked up at him, the events leading up to this moment coming back to him. “That was actually…your car?”
“Well, whose else would it be, Wright?” He shook his head, bringing the phone to his ear.
Miles Edgeworth’s car.
It all came crashing back into his chest. Matt Engarde. The case. His return.
It was all too much.
Phoenix clutched the front of his shirt. But he didn’t scream, or cry, or yell. Instead, he felt laughter bubble out of him.
Edgeworth frowned at him and leaned back slightly, clearly startled by the action, but Phoenix just kept on laughing. It hurt, rattling his sore skull like this, but he couldn’t help it. Somewhere in the background birds were chirping among the trees, cars were humming along the street, and Edgeworth was talking on the phone, but all Phoenix could hear, all he could feel was his own joy flowing out of him with each chuckle.
Miles Edgeworth’s car.
The laughter puttered out, leaving Phoenix even more breathless than before. “Do you know how many people own red cars, Edgeworth?” he got out.
“I need details, Wright. What hurts?”
“A lot. A lot of people own red cars. Too many people.”
“Wright, focus!” he demanded, clearly exasperated. “I don’t see how the number of red cars in the world is in any way related to your pain.”
Phoenix watched Miles huff in frustration, glaring down at him. His bangs hung in front of his face, framing each sharp feature.
He couldn’t help it.
He reached out and brushed his hand against those silvery bangs.
Edgeworth froze.
Phoenix felt the strands on his fingers, and when his hand brushed against his cheek, there was warmth there. He was there. He was real.
“Oh, I assure you,” Phoenix said softly, retracting his hand. “it’s very related.”
Edgeworth just stared, his gaze locked on Phoenix almost like he was studying him, like he was looking for something. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before clearing his throat. He shook his head and continued to talk to whoever it was over the phone about concussions and transportation and whatever other unimportant thing they asked him for. The only thing that mattered to Phoenix was the person who was saying it.
“My head hurts, by the way,” Phoenix said suddenly. “I’m okay otherwise, though.” He did ask for that, didn’t he?
Edgeworth sighed, relaying the information over the phone. Then, he reached out his hand toward Phoenix.
“Then get up and get in my car so I can take you to someone who can say that and actually know what they’re talking about.”
He looked from the man offering it to the hand in front of him. He was right. His hand was shaking, ever so slightly.
Phoenix took his hand.
“I told you I was fine.”
Phoenix sat at the edge of the hospital bed, legs dangling over the side.
“Despite all logic, it would seem so. Maybe we should ask the doctor to look again, though. That fall…” Miles pursed his lips, standing a few feet from the bed with his arms crossed in front of him. “It looked bad.”
Phoenix shrugged. “But it wasn’t. I’m fine. A little bump on the head isn’t going to stop me.”
“Wh-but-L-Little?” Edgeworth sputtered. “You launched yourself straight into a metal post!”
“Like I said, little bump.”
“You cannot let your lack of serious injuries warp your perception of reality, Wright,” Edgeworth said, his voice low and serious as he took a step forward with his finger raised. “You cannot continue to be this impulsive without expecting to face consequences.”
The furrow in his brow was so pronounced it sent a chill down Phoenix’s spine. He had never seen Edgeworth quite like this. His eyes, his shaking hands, his irritation…
…
…Oh.
“You were scared,” he said simply, unable to hide the wonder in his voice.
“Of course I was scared!” Edgeworth huffed. “You were being reckless as usual and it nearly caused a serious injury!”
“Wha-I wasn’t being reckless!”
“Then what not-reckless activity were you doing, hm? What happened?”
“I was just looking at your car!”
“Why would you be doing that instead of looking at the road ahead of you?” he demanded, raising his arms as he took another step forward. “I’m surprised you even noticed me at all.”
“What? How could I not notice? That things is so shiny it’d probably be easier to—”
“What is this obsession with my car? You can’t even drive! It’s just another machine on the road, so what is it about it that—”
“It’s not the stupid car, Edgeworth, it’s who was in it!”
He froze, his finger pointed squarely at Edgeworth’s chest. The man stared back, eyebrows knitted, eyes slightly wider than their typical narrowed state.
Phoenix slowly dropped his hand to his lap with a sigh. “I’m still not…used to you being back. Being real.” He began fidgeting with his hands, the natural confidence flowing through them now gone. “I know we talked about it, why you left, why you came back, and I know you’re really back, I do, it’s just…I don’t think my body really knows that. Because, for so long…” He trailed off, averting his gaze. “For a long time, I looked inside every red car. I know, it sounds stupid, go ahead and laugh, but I did. So when I actually did see you I…”
Phoenix kept his eyes trained on the unimpressive tiled floor below, feeling Edgeworth’s eyes on him. He didn’t want to look. He didn’t need to see his condescending courtroom smirk or the matching expression when he eventually let out a haughty laugh.
He never did.
Phoenix gathered the courage to look up at him, only to find Edgeworth staring distantly at a point behind him.
“E-Edgeworth?”
He pursed his lips, keeping his gaze pointedly away from Phoenix.
“While I was…away…” Edgeworth began hesitantly, voice wavering slightly, “I stayed at a hotel in Munich. All the windows had curtains.” He swallowed. “Blue curtains,” he clarified, his voice steadier now. “And every room in that hotel had the exact same ones.”
He finally met his eyes.
“I lasted two nights before I had to change hotels.”
Phoenix blinked at him. “Wh-What?”
“In Budapest,” he pressed on, taking yet another step closer, “it was the coats in the display window. In London, it was the tablecloth in the restaurant. In Paris, it was the couch in the lobby. By the time I fled to Copenhagen, I really should have had the mind to leave that blasted chess set behind.”
“W-Was the interior decorating really that bad?” Phoenix said meekly, looking up at Edgeworth who was now only mere inches away.
“Obviously, the upholstery was not what rattled me. Surely you know that.”
No, he didn’t know that. Because if it wasn’t the upholstery, the fashion design, or the interior decorating, then that meant…
"The world is full of blue, Wright.” Edgeworth’s hand twitched at his side. He clenched it into a fist, taking a deep breath. “And it all reminded me too much of you.”
Well.
“Oh.”
That certainly didn’t mean anything.
“And I had the luxury of knowing you were out there somewhere, turning the world about for the better as you always did. But you didn’t have that.”
Slowly, carefully, Edgeworth placed his hand over Phoenix’s on his lap.
Phoenix inhaled sharply.
Neither did that.
“I said it before and I will say it again: I am truly sorry for how it all turned out. How I left. How I came back. How you…” Edgeworth trailed off. He took in another deep breath.
He gently picked up Phoenix’s hand, holding it between the two of them, softly brushing his thumb against his knuckles.
Phoenix couldn’t breathe.
“I am sorry. But I am here now. I am real. And I have no intention of ever letting you think otherwise again.”
He looked at him so intently, so earnestly, so unlike any look Edgeworth had ever given him that Phoenix could only marvel at the expression in silence, his tongue dry and thoughts mush. Did he have more looks like that? If he ever used that expression in court, Phoenix feared he wouldn’t survive. Not that he was doing much better now.
“If…If it is agreeable with you,” he started, his voice once again faltering slightly, catching on each word, “I want to help you remember. That I truly am here,” he added with a small squeeze of his hand. “That I am real.”
“Help me remember?” Phoenix repeated slowly, almost dazed. “What do you mean?”
“Assuming you are truly well…” Edgeworth straightened his posture and the corners of his lips turned upward slightly, his gaze almost soft. (So he did have more looks like that. Great information.) “Would you join me for dinner tomorrow night?”
!
Oh.
Oh.
He was right. That he would remember.
Edgeworth picked him up the next evening in his red car. When they arrived at the restaurant, the tablecloths were blue. The air was light and conversation came easily. The food was good, the wine was great, and the company was even better. And perhaps Phoenix was able to start internalizing the fact that the man in front of him was truly Miles Edgeworth and not some vivid hallucination.
Over the course of the night, Phoenix found himself just looking at Edgeworth. Following his jaw as he spoke. Catching the light reflecting off his hair. Watching his hands instinctually clench and point as he made an argument. Mentally tracing the furrow in his brow. These were the features he never found in those car windows for a whole year, just right in front of him. Now he was going to savor every one.
On the way out of the restaurant, Edgeworth couldn’t remember where exactly he parked his car. Phoenix picked it out from the many reds spotting the parking lot, because Phoenix would recognize that car anywhere.
As they walked to the car side by side, Phoenix gathered his courage and slid his hand into Edgeworth’s. It didn’t dissipate under his fingers. Instead, Edgeworth silently wrapped his own hand around Phoenix’s, holding on. He was really there.
I am here now. I am real. And I have no intention of ever letting you think otherwise again, he had said.
He better not pull anything like that again. Because If he ever did do anything like that again, then Phoenix definitely wouldn’t survive it due to one simple fact. Though he didn’t admit it, in his heart he knew it even back then, and he certainly knew it now.
Red would never be just another color.