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Go, Wright's eyes tell him, placing the coiled whip in his hands. Before anything else, this is what Wright does. What he chooses to focus on. You are needed elsewhere.
And so Edgeworth goes. He rushes to the airport and intercepts his sister before she can disappear and leave behind only a half-baked farewell encased in harsh lines. He knows Franziska too well. More so than any other person in his life.
He wants to say goodbye on good terms and leave their future brighter for it.
Now night has fallen in a dark hush. Small stars burn sluggishly, too far away and too weak against the lively yellow glow of city light. He thinks about what else he has left to do, the loose ends that he needs to tie.
The image of Wright holding those two girls tight against him flashes across his mind. He can still see those trembling shoulders, his unapologetic joy and the relief that spilled over the curves of his cheeks.
That was the first time he ever saw Wright cry. Phoenix, yes, but never Wright.
(I'm so glad, he whispered into Maya's hair and clutched her even closer. It wasn't meant for any of them, but they heard it anyway. They were too close to avoid the way his voice trembled and how he cried and smiled and then cried some more. I'm so glad.)
Edgeworth hails a cab.
He glimpses at the moon, full and heavy and bright. Yes, he thinks, feet finding their way to the Wright & Co. Law Offices, The night is not over yet.
And so—Phoenix Wright.
He's there, suddenly. Sitting on the stoop, elbows on his knees and hands clasped tightly together. Orange light spills from the office windows and drenches Wright's back. The bleak night seeps into blue cotton, staining it a muddier colour.
Edgeworth waits. Wright doesn't move.
He doesn't have a coat on. It seems like a silly thing to focus on, but it's there, throbbing inside his skull. Edgeworth moves forwards, sharp heel-clicks thundering on the concrete in his urgency. Wright’s going to catch a cold—
"Wright."
Wright's head lifts, but his heavy gaze doesn't stay on Edgeworth for very long. Edgeworth’s stomach flips; he should not be so grateful. He should be better than that. This is what he chose to do and he should see it through until the end.
A moment passes before Edgeworth sits down on the stoop next to him.
(It will take a couple more moments before he truly realizes it himself. And another mountain of moments after that for him to admit that it’s there. That there is something stuck inside the spaces of his ribs. Growing, blooming—getting caught up in his throat.)
“I’m surprised you’re here. Are the rumours true? Do you really live in your office?”
“I’m not that hard up, Edgeworth,” Wright mumbles. “Maya always feels more comfortable here. We spent the night after...”
There’s something that follows afterwards, but Wright abandons it as soon as the words make it to his lips. Edgeworth wonders what he was going to say—what story he isn’t privy to and may never hear.
Wright rubs his face, hand stopping over his mouth a little too long for comfort before he shakes his head. Wright leans back and sighs, looking over at him. “Anyway, I’m the one who should be surprised. I didn’t even think you knew where this place was.”
It feels like it should be a call for a fight, but the day has been full of anger and grief and neither of them are in the mood for it anymore. So Edgeworth simply nods and tucks away the apologies and justifications he knows Wright doesn’t need right now and replies, “I do my research. That, and you’ve also handed me your business card.”
He even takes it out of his wallet and offers it up. Wright thumbs it over, smudging the ink and the worn corners in thoughtful consideration.
“You kept it,” Wright comments, almost awed. “Though I guess it makes sense for you. I’m surprised it’s in such bad shape. Thought you’d have a proper rolodex to protect it.”
“I do,” Edgeworth admits. “This one is a copy. You’ve given me so many multiples over our time together it’s rather impressive how many of them I have. Your tendency to present evidence of your employment is consistent, if nothing else.”
“It’s more impressive that you kept all of them.”
“It pays to have things in triplicate.”
Wright snorts and the line of tension in his shoulder eases as he breathes out, breath condensing into fog. They sit there together for a while, the last gasp of winter blowing through their hair and scattering loose bits of rock and leaves.
He should say something. He should really say something. Isn’t that what he came here to do—to prove that he’s changed?
But there’s nothing he can say. He can't find the words.
Eventually, it grows too much for him. The concrete is hard and unforgiving and Edgeworth doesn’t know the last time either of them ate and—
He looks down at Wright as he stands up and pats the dirt and dust away. “Perhaps a walk will do you some good,” he says diplomatically. He offers his hand before he can overthink it. “It would be better than just sitting out here in the cold.”
Wright is quiet for a moment before he takes the hand, his palm rough and cold against Edgeworth’s soft skin. “I guess. There’s a burger joint down the street. We could get some food too.”
“I’ll pay.”
“Really?” Wright arcs an amused brow. “Well, I can't wait to see their faces when you walk up with a cheque book that's worth more than their quarterly income.”
“Nonsense, Wright,” Edgeworth says breezily. “I’ll be using a card for the reward miles.”
Wright's laughter is delighted as it echoes in the streets. It fills Edgworth with such pride and warmth.
It’s three in the morning. Maybe he should have clocked onto that sooner.
Edgeworth looks down at the saddest burger he has ever had the pleasure of seeing in his life and blinks slowly. It’s—been a long time, really. His father always advocated for healthy eating and tried his best, but people end up in these places anyway. Especially with the quick, frantic nature of their trial system, it seems almost inevitable.
He looks at Wright. Edgeworth thought it was the burger joint itself at first. There’s a sort of otherworldly energy at work here. Something mystical in the off-yellow overhead lamps as Wright manages to assume the same exhausted expression of the single employee shuffling behind the counter.
He looks like he belongs here. Instead of being superimposed on top like Edgeworth is, Wright has the same crease in his eyes as the seat cushions underneath them. Even the bright blue suit that looks like it’s worth a million dollars comparatively doesn’t look out of place in this setting. He has the strange ability to do that. To simply assimilate into whatever setting he’s propped up against be it the courts, the detention centre or the office.
It could also be the deep purple bruise underneath his eyes and the red tinge at the corners.
Is this what Wright is truly like now that he's been stripped of everything? His façade, his flashy features and determined gaze—all of that just to reveal a man left behind in the wake of tragedy.
“Wright?”
“Hm?”
Wright transitions from nodding off precariously to propping up his head with his arm. Idly, Edgeworth wonders if he’s going to have to save Wright from face-planting into his soda once his arm gives out. Wright looks oddly at peace. As if he's resigned himself to his fate.
“You should eat something,” he says gently, gesturing towards Wright’s untouched food.
“Probably,” Wright yawns, covering it with his arm and leaning back in the chair to look out at the empty seats around them. “Maybe I was a bit ambitious. Don't think I can stomach anything after tonight, honestly.”
“That's understandable,” Edgeworth says, coming in slow. Wright perks up at the hesitation and gives him a kind smile that he doesn't deserve.
“You don't have to walk on eggshells around me...but I do appreciate the consideration.”
There's a barb lodged in there that makes the burger in Edgeworth's stomach curdle.
“I’ve learned from my mistakes.”
“Yeah,” Wright agrees, cracking on the last note.
He’s quiet for a long time before he continues with, “I’ll be honest: I’m not that good of a person that I can just forgive you.”
A hand moves to the back of Wright's neck, unsettling the loose strands there. His hair isn’t sticking up as it usually does. There’s a visible droop and it’s...strange to see it. He's never seen Wright in this context before. In any context outside of a professional one, really, no matter how much their personal baggage blurred the lines. Wright had been a friend at first and then an open wound and then—hope. Hope that he had forgotten the colour of.
Like this, Wright seems human and vulnerable. And it's like Edgworth has been handed two pieces with jagged edges that don't fit together, but are supposedly from the same puzzle. It's different to seeing the cracks in the façade of a bluff or the buzzing anxiety dripping down Wright's jaw. Even different to seeing the blazing anger that choked Edgeworth out in the police station and left him winded and dazed. It's different because it's real. Vividly and incomprehensibly real in the face of every assumption Edgeworth had tucked under his jacket and flew across an ocean with.
And yet it’s still so small. Like he can still miss it if he's not careful.
Wright sighs, “But...I am thankful. You helped us out back there. Maya's safe because of you and Franziska and—thank you, Edgeworth. That's really what I want you to take away from this. I'm still mad at you, but...it's okay. I think I understand why you did it, even if I still don't agree with it.” There's a bitter peel on the smile Wright gives him. Steeped with regret that swirls around his pupils under the fluorescent pockets of light. “And I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have said those words, no matter how angry I was. That wasn't okay.”
He had hoped for a new start. He had hoped for it so fiercely and dreamed about showing Wright how far he has come and grown in his time away.
Perhaps this is how it is always going to be: a hammer to his expectations and the shattering of his preconceived notions. Because it's never going to be easy with Phoenix Wright. There is always something for him to learn about the shape of the lawyer, of the person Edgeworth wants to become in his future. It's humbling, infuriating and comforting in a strange way. Because this is still what he hoped for—a start. A small and messy start with a bare plot of dirt and nothing but personal determination to cultivate it into something worthwhile.
Edgeworth smiles. “It wasn't okay...but I still forgive you for it.”
“You're a better person than me, Edgworth,” Wright smiles, eyes a little bloodshot, but still so bright.
“No...I don't think that at all.”
“Then we'll have to agree to disagree.”
They look at each other over their distressing array of three-in-the-morning burgers, fries and unexpected interpersonal honesty and burst into quiet chuckles at the absurdity of it all.
“...Thanks for staying, Edgeworth.” Wright says, cherry soft and quiet.” I'm really glad that you were here.”
“Always, Wright.” Edgeworth promises, heart easing downwards back into his chest as he feels the tension between them melt away. “I'll be with you now—” and forever, “—for as long as you need. To the best of my ability.”
It's a start, he thinks. It's only just a start.