Fic - Kink Meme
Title: No clue. o_o; Any ideas, y'all?
Prompt: Phoenix telling Edgeworth he hates him and meaning it
Word count: 1982
Characters: Phoenix Wright and Miles Edgeworth
Warnings: Massive emo and coarse language.
Spoilers: Mention of Trucy
It hadn’t really been on purpose, really. Nothing was official-and Phoenix was, quite frankly, afraid of voicing it. But, he figured, they were pretty official by now.
They ended up at either Phoenix’s apartment, or at Edgeworth’s house most nights (mostly Edgeworth’s house as Edgeworth had nothing but complaints about the state of Phoenix’s space), and after a while, Phoenix began to spend more time in Edgeworth’s home than he did in his own.
One day, wordlessly, a key was put on the bed when Phoenix woke up in Edgeworth’s bed alone. Phoenix had attempted to make goofy small talk, to thank Edgeworth at the time, but Edgeworth would have nothing of it. Phoenix settled for smiling. And that was that.
It was strange, almost surreal how quickly time passed. But Edgeworth still called Phoenix ‘Wright’, and Phoenix did very much the same for Edgeworth. Yes, Phoenix decided, it was strange, but as long as they loved each other, that was okay too.
Every morning at six, they met at the kitchen table. Phoenix always had coffee, black, and Edgeworth always had tea. Phoenix never found out what type it was. He never asked. Edgeworth never told him. Edgeworth would go over some paperwork or read the newspaper, and Phoenix always caught up with the Arts & Life section, seeing as acting was something he still enjoyed watching.
“I had an odd dream last night,” Phoenix said once, breaking the comfortable silence between sips of coffee.
“Hm?” Edgeworth put down the paper, although he didn’t look very interested.
“It was about you.”
Edgeworth took a sip of tea. “Understandable, considering we slept next to one another last night.”
“Not that we got a lot of sleeping done,” Phoenix cracked, but that was met with nary a reaction, save for perhaps a private little smirk Edgeworth seemed so prone to do. “Anyways, it was about you and me.” He waited patiently for a reaction. “Are you going to ask what about?”
Edgeworth shrugged. “I had assumed that you’d tell me regardless, as usual.” He looked up, with little effort, to meet Phoenix’s eyes. The silent affection was all Phoenix needed to be soothed.
“Anyways, we were living together.”
Edgeworth broke off a piece of the muffin he was eating. “You mean like we are now?”
“Let me finish.” He thought for a moment. “I think we were getting married or something. We were official. Everyone knew, anyways.”
Edgeworth said nothing.
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Well, what do you think of my dream?”
Edgeworth considered this. “It was just a dream. From the looks of it, you can barely remember it yourself.”
The silence next was full of tension. Phoenix regretted saying anything at all. “Maya’s coming back tomorrow.”
“Mm.”
Phoenix sipped his coffee. “I thought she could stay with me.”
“We don’t have another bedroom.”
Phoenix shook his head. “No. With me. In my apartment, maybe. Like old times.”
“You still have it?”
Phoenix nodded. “Yeah. Just…in case.”
And that was that.
Phoenix began sleeping at his own apartment two days a week. Usually. Edgeworth never said anything. So, Phoenix thought, it didn’t feel okay, but it must have been okay, because nobody really said anything. He still called Edgeworth every night. Their conversations were brief. Phoenix didn’t mind. Not really.
====
“I love you.”
It was a Saturday morning, and Phoenix had slept over the night before. The sun was shining, but the curtains were drawn. Phoenix was eating some hardboiled egg on toast, and Edgeworth, an English muffin when the words slipped out of Phoenix’s mouth. He touched Edgeworth’s wrists. Edgeworth said nothing. He stood.
“Wright.” For a moment, uncertainty flickered across his face before it was quickly smothered and put under control again. “I’m late for work.” He left the room quickly, silently. Phoenix waited for the sound of the door slamming before turning to stare at the clock. Edgeworth was half an hour early.
He stood, slamming his hands on the table and glared at the door’s general direction. “Fuck you, Edgeworth.” The force of his hands upon the table sent the plates toppling down onto the floor-they did not break, and Phoenix had to resist the temptation to childishly step on them. He didn’t bother picking them up, however he heard a noise by the door.
He rushed over, saying louder, in vain hopes that somebody out there could hear that he was angry, “Fuck you.” He flung open the door. Nobody was there. Not a soul in sight-lines of empty houses, an empty street, calm little trees and perfectly trimmed lawns of grass. Phoenix’s face fell as he looked down, seeing a small red carton.
Phoenix picked it up. It was a cigarette carton. When he opened it to look inside, it was empty.
He didn’t know Edgeworth smoked.
He left the house straight after. He didn’t bother locking the door.
====
One night, one nondescript night, they were sitting in Edgeworth’s kitchen drinking booze. Phoenix couldn’t remember what they were drinking. Phoenix couldn’t remember if it was a Monday, or a Tuesday, or if the skies were overcast, or if the stars shone brightly. Jazz or classical played in the background. Phoenix didn’t know. All of it sounded horribly scripted anyways.
“You know,” Edgeworth said out of the blue, glass in hand, amber liquid threatening to spill over the sides, “sometimes I wonder.”
“Wonder about what?” Phoenix looked up.
Edgeworth pensively swirled his glass once more and shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Phoenix stared at him, brow furrowed. “You sure?”
“If I wasn’t sure, Wright,” Edgeworth’s voice was icy, “I wouldn’t have said it.”
“If you were sure,” Phoenix countered, “you wouldn’t have mentioned it in the first place.”
He received a particularly icy look in response, and they lapsed into silence. As they drank, Phoenix became more and more assured that he wasn’t in fact overstepping any boundaries. This was ridiculous. This whole thing. Tip toeing around the very person who was supposed to be his lover. Stolen glances smothered in public. Lack of conversation. Lack of warmth. It made no sense, it made no goddamn sense, and he spent how long chasing the man? How much energy had he spent trying to understand him, and failing, every single time?
He slammed his glass on the marble countertop. The resulting clang was satisfying.
“You know Edgeworth,” he said, swiveling around to face the other man, “sometimes I really don’t understand you.”
Edgeworth raised a brow, putting down his own glass with a much quieter clink. It was his fourth or fifth or sixth or seventh glass. Phoenix had lost count. Phoenix didn’t care. “Wright, be quiet. You’re drunk.” Phoenix’s hand was on the table, and Edgeworth looked as if he almost touched the other man, but decided against it.
“I don’t care. I-“
“Listen, Wright-“ Edgeworth interjected, but Phoenix interrupted.
“No. You listen to me. For once.” The look on Edgeworth’s face was ludicrously funny, and Phoenix had to laugh, a brief, humorless laugh, more hysterical than amused.
Edgeworth stood. “I have no patience for this today, Wright,” he growled. “If you want to talk, we can do it in the morning. When you’re sober.”
“Don’t go anywhere.” Phoenix grabbed the other man’s wrist, suddenly reminded of grabbing his wrist when the words ‘I love you’ slipped out of his lips. “You know what Edgeworth? You’re always running away. Always fucking running off to…to…Europe or Africa or Germany or whatever. Stay here and listen, will you?”
Stunned into silence, Edgeworth sat, eyeing Phoenix warily.
“Good,” Phoenix said, almost hesitant as to what to say after he got Edgeworth to shut up for a change. Another drink bolstered his courage. “I don’t understand why we’re doing this anymore, Edgeworth. That’s it.”
The expression on Edgeworth’s face was guarded-even when drunk, Phoenix thought dryly, Edgeworth managed to be alert. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the other man said flatly.
“I told you I loved you the other day. Remember that, Edgeworth? You just up and ran away. Again. Explain it.”
Edgeworth shook his head scornfully, “I don’t owe you an explanation for that-“
“Yes you do.” Phoenix rested his eyes on Edgeworth. “It’s important.” When Edgeworth didn’t answer, Phoenix persisted, “Why? Tell me, just that one thing. Just tell me-“
“Because I don’t.” The words, sharp and clear seemed to be thrown at Phoenix. Edgeworth himself looked rather surprised, but his expression settled for a slightly perturbed neutrality. As usual. When Edgeworth saw Phoenix’s expression, he shook his head, “I didn’t mean it like-“
“Shut up, Edgeworth. Shut the hell up.” Phoenix rapped his knuckles against his chin. “You did. I know that, and you know that, so stop bullshitting for one minute, will you?”
“I meant,” Edgeworth replied icily, “I didn’t mean it as in I did not enjoy your companionship.”
“But love?”
Edgeworth stared at him. “No.”
Phoenix stood. “You know what, Edgeworth?” He chuckled, but his eyes were wide and half hysterical. “You wanna know what? Sometimes-sometimes, I really hate you. No-no, that’s not right.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Not sometimes. I hate you. I really do.”
He looked down. “I hate the way you avoid things, and I hate the way you run away all the time, and I hate the way our relationship is going and I hate the way you pretended that you loved me-“
“I never pretended.”
“Then I hate you for fooling me.”
Edgeworth stood in turn. “Then leave, Wright.”
“What?”
He was calm. “You hate me. You said it yourself. So leave. There’s no reason for you to be here anymore.”
“I don’t want to leave.” Phoenix was aware he sounded like a child, but didn’t particularly care.
“Well, I do.”
“Well-“ Phoenix shook his head. “Whatever. Fine. I’ll leave.” Almost by instinct, in the doorway, they jostled shoulders, and they stood, staring at each other as if it were the last time they’d ever see one another.
As Phoenix walked down the steps, he looked back. Edgeworth’s back was turned.
He waited for Edgeworth to turn around, to look back, to show some sign of remorse. He didn’t. Phoenix thought he saw the man’s shoulders shaking. Was he laughing or crying? He wondered.
Phoenix decided he didn’t care.
That was the last time they saw each other.
===
Edgeworth went to Europe. Ran away again, Phoenix had thought at the time, with no real venom. Phoenix hadn’t tried getting in touch with Edgeworth again-it had crossed his thoughts, but he decided he’d wait. Wait till the other man saw him first. They had a bond after all, a bond that couldn’t be broken…right?
Edgeworth never called. It had been ten years since he had seen the man last.
Sometimes Phoenix wondered what Edgeworth was going to say when he started off, “sometimes I wonder”. But only sometimes. Phoenix moved on, after all. He had a family. A life.
Humans, Phoenix thought, craved contact. Phoenix had always managed to gain contact-Edgeworth hadn’t. Maybe that’s all they were looking for when they were together. Maybe Phoenix was stupid, and mistook contact for love, mistook connections for affections.
The more he thought about it, the more he thought something was there. Not love, but something. A voice broke into his thoughts.
“Papa…? Is everything all right?”
Phoenix smiled warmly at his daughter, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Fine. Just thinking.” The contact was warm, and it made him feel loved. It made him love her. It made him feel human.
He wondered if Edgeworth had contact, had love, had warmth, felt human, right now.
He doubted it.
Phoenix misses Edgeworth still, sometimes, but Trucy manages to take it away.
Phoenix never wonders if Edgeworth misses him. He knows he does.
Prompt: Phoenix telling Edgeworth he hates him and meaning it
Word count: 1982
Characters: Phoenix Wright and Miles Edgeworth
Warnings: Massive emo and coarse language.
Spoilers: Mention of Trucy
It hadn’t really been on purpose, really. Nothing was official-and Phoenix was, quite frankly, afraid of voicing it. But, he figured, they were pretty official by now.
They ended up at either Phoenix’s apartment, or at Edgeworth’s house most nights (mostly Edgeworth’s house as Edgeworth had nothing but complaints about the state of Phoenix’s space), and after a while, Phoenix began to spend more time in Edgeworth’s home than he did in his own.
One day, wordlessly, a key was put on the bed when Phoenix woke up in Edgeworth’s bed alone. Phoenix had attempted to make goofy small talk, to thank Edgeworth at the time, but Edgeworth would have nothing of it. Phoenix settled for smiling. And that was that.
It was strange, almost surreal how quickly time passed. But Edgeworth still called Phoenix ‘Wright’, and Phoenix did very much the same for Edgeworth. Yes, Phoenix decided, it was strange, but as long as they loved each other, that was okay too.
Every morning at six, they met at the kitchen table. Phoenix always had coffee, black, and Edgeworth always had tea. Phoenix never found out what type it was. He never asked. Edgeworth never told him. Edgeworth would go over some paperwork or read the newspaper, and Phoenix always caught up with the Arts & Life section, seeing as acting was something he still enjoyed watching.
“I had an odd dream last night,” Phoenix said once, breaking the comfortable silence between sips of coffee.
“Hm?” Edgeworth put down the paper, although he didn’t look very interested.
“It was about you.”
Edgeworth took a sip of tea. “Understandable, considering we slept next to one another last night.”
“Not that we got a lot of sleeping done,” Phoenix cracked, but that was met with nary a reaction, save for perhaps a private little smirk Edgeworth seemed so prone to do. “Anyways, it was about you and me.” He waited patiently for a reaction. “Are you going to ask what about?”
Edgeworth shrugged. “I had assumed that you’d tell me regardless, as usual.” He looked up, with little effort, to meet Phoenix’s eyes. The silent affection was all Phoenix needed to be soothed.
“Anyways, we were living together.”
Edgeworth broke off a piece of the muffin he was eating. “You mean like we are now?”
“Let me finish.” He thought for a moment. “I think we were getting married or something. We were official. Everyone knew, anyways.”
Edgeworth said nothing.
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Well, what do you think of my dream?”
Edgeworth considered this. “It was just a dream. From the looks of it, you can barely remember it yourself.”
The silence next was full of tension. Phoenix regretted saying anything at all. “Maya’s coming back tomorrow.”
“Mm.”
Phoenix sipped his coffee. “I thought she could stay with me.”
“We don’t have another bedroom.”
Phoenix shook his head. “No. With me. In my apartment, maybe. Like old times.”
“You still have it?”
Phoenix nodded. “Yeah. Just…in case.”
And that was that.
Phoenix began sleeping at his own apartment two days a week. Usually. Edgeworth never said anything. So, Phoenix thought, it didn’t feel okay, but it must have been okay, because nobody really said anything. He still called Edgeworth every night. Their conversations were brief. Phoenix didn’t mind. Not really.
====
“I love you.”
It was a Saturday morning, and Phoenix had slept over the night before. The sun was shining, but the curtains were drawn. Phoenix was eating some hardboiled egg on toast, and Edgeworth, an English muffin when the words slipped out of Phoenix’s mouth. He touched Edgeworth’s wrists. Edgeworth said nothing. He stood.
“Wright.” For a moment, uncertainty flickered across his face before it was quickly smothered and put under control again. “I’m late for work.” He left the room quickly, silently. Phoenix waited for the sound of the door slamming before turning to stare at the clock. Edgeworth was half an hour early.
He stood, slamming his hands on the table and glared at the door’s general direction. “Fuck you, Edgeworth.” The force of his hands upon the table sent the plates toppling down onto the floor-they did not break, and Phoenix had to resist the temptation to childishly step on them. He didn’t bother picking them up, however he heard a noise by the door.
He rushed over, saying louder, in vain hopes that somebody out there could hear that he was angry, “Fuck you.” He flung open the door. Nobody was there. Not a soul in sight-lines of empty houses, an empty street, calm little trees and perfectly trimmed lawns of grass. Phoenix’s face fell as he looked down, seeing a small red carton.
Phoenix picked it up. It was a cigarette carton. When he opened it to look inside, it was empty.
He didn’t know Edgeworth smoked.
He left the house straight after. He didn’t bother locking the door.
====
One night, one nondescript night, they were sitting in Edgeworth’s kitchen drinking booze. Phoenix couldn’t remember what they were drinking. Phoenix couldn’t remember if it was a Monday, or a Tuesday, or if the skies were overcast, or if the stars shone brightly. Jazz or classical played in the background. Phoenix didn’t know. All of it sounded horribly scripted anyways.
“You know,” Edgeworth said out of the blue, glass in hand, amber liquid threatening to spill over the sides, “sometimes I wonder.”
“Wonder about what?” Phoenix looked up.
Edgeworth pensively swirled his glass once more and shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Phoenix stared at him, brow furrowed. “You sure?”
“If I wasn’t sure, Wright,” Edgeworth’s voice was icy, “I wouldn’t have said it.”
“If you were sure,” Phoenix countered, “you wouldn’t have mentioned it in the first place.”
He received a particularly icy look in response, and they lapsed into silence. As they drank, Phoenix became more and more assured that he wasn’t in fact overstepping any boundaries. This was ridiculous. This whole thing. Tip toeing around the very person who was supposed to be his lover. Stolen glances smothered in public. Lack of conversation. Lack of warmth. It made no sense, it made no goddamn sense, and he spent how long chasing the man? How much energy had he spent trying to understand him, and failing, every single time?
He slammed his glass on the marble countertop. The resulting clang was satisfying.
“You know Edgeworth,” he said, swiveling around to face the other man, “sometimes I really don’t understand you.”
Edgeworth raised a brow, putting down his own glass with a much quieter clink. It was his fourth or fifth or sixth or seventh glass. Phoenix had lost count. Phoenix didn’t care. “Wright, be quiet. You’re drunk.” Phoenix’s hand was on the table, and Edgeworth looked as if he almost touched the other man, but decided against it.
“I don’t care. I-“
“Listen, Wright-“ Edgeworth interjected, but Phoenix interrupted.
“No. You listen to me. For once.” The look on Edgeworth’s face was ludicrously funny, and Phoenix had to laugh, a brief, humorless laugh, more hysterical than amused.
Edgeworth stood. “I have no patience for this today, Wright,” he growled. “If you want to talk, we can do it in the morning. When you’re sober.”
“Don’t go anywhere.” Phoenix grabbed the other man’s wrist, suddenly reminded of grabbing his wrist when the words ‘I love you’ slipped out of his lips. “You know what Edgeworth? You’re always running away. Always fucking running off to…to…Europe or Africa or Germany or whatever. Stay here and listen, will you?”
Stunned into silence, Edgeworth sat, eyeing Phoenix warily.
“Good,” Phoenix said, almost hesitant as to what to say after he got Edgeworth to shut up for a change. Another drink bolstered his courage. “I don’t understand why we’re doing this anymore, Edgeworth. That’s it.”
The expression on Edgeworth’s face was guarded-even when drunk, Phoenix thought dryly, Edgeworth managed to be alert. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the other man said flatly.
“I told you I loved you the other day. Remember that, Edgeworth? You just up and ran away. Again. Explain it.”
Edgeworth shook his head scornfully, “I don’t owe you an explanation for that-“
“Yes you do.” Phoenix rested his eyes on Edgeworth. “It’s important.” When Edgeworth didn’t answer, Phoenix persisted, “Why? Tell me, just that one thing. Just tell me-“
“Because I don’t.” The words, sharp and clear seemed to be thrown at Phoenix. Edgeworth himself looked rather surprised, but his expression settled for a slightly perturbed neutrality. As usual. When Edgeworth saw Phoenix’s expression, he shook his head, “I didn’t mean it like-“
“Shut up, Edgeworth. Shut the hell up.” Phoenix rapped his knuckles against his chin. “You did. I know that, and you know that, so stop bullshitting for one minute, will you?”
“I meant,” Edgeworth replied icily, “I didn’t mean it as in I did not enjoy your companionship.”
“But love?”
Edgeworth stared at him. “No.”
Phoenix stood. “You know what, Edgeworth?” He chuckled, but his eyes were wide and half hysterical. “You wanna know what? Sometimes-sometimes, I really hate you. No-no, that’s not right.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Not sometimes. I hate you. I really do.”
He looked down. “I hate the way you avoid things, and I hate the way you run away all the time, and I hate the way our relationship is going and I hate the way you pretended that you loved me-“
“I never pretended.”
“Then I hate you for fooling me.”
Edgeworth stood in turn. “Then leave, Wright.”
“What?”
He was calm. “You hate me. You said it yourself. So leave. There’s no reason for you to be here anymore.”
“I don’t want to leave.” Phoenix was aware he sounded like a child, but didn’t particularly care.
“Well, I do.”
“Well-“ Phoenix shook his head. “Whatever. Fine. I’ll leave.” Almost by instinct, in the doorway, they jostled shoulders, and they stood, staring at each other as if it were the last time they’d ever see one another.
As Phoenix walked down the steps, he looked back. Edgeworth’s back was turned.
He waited for Edgeworth to turn around, to look back, to show some sign of remorse. He didn’t. Phoenix thought he saw the man’s shoulders shaking. Was he laughing or crying? He wondered.
Phoenix decided he didn’t care.
That was the last time they saw each other.
===
Edgeworth went to Europe. Ran away again, Phoenix had thought at the time, with no real venom. Phoenix hadn’t tried getting in touch with Edgeworth again-it had crossed his thoughts, but he decided he’d wait. Wait till the other man saw him first. They had a bond after all, a bond that couldn’t be broken…right?
Edgeworth never called. It had been ten years since he had seen the man last.
Sometimes Phoenix wondered what Edgeworth was going to say when he started off, “sometimes I wonder”. But only sometimes. Phoenix moved on, after all. He had a family. A life.
Humans, Phoenix thought, craved contact. Phoenix had always managed to gain contact-Edgeworth hadn’t. Maybe that’s all they were looking for when they were together. Maybe Phoenix was stupid, and mistook contact for love, mistook connections for affections.
The more he thought about it, the more he thought something was there. Not love, but something. A voice broke into his thoughts.
“Papa…? Is everything all right?”
Phoenix smiled warmly at his daughter, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Fine. Just thinking.” The contact was warm, and it made him feel loved. It made him love her. It made him feel human.
He wondered if Edgeworth had contact, had love, had warmth, felt human, right now.
He doubted it.
Phoenix misses Edgeworth still, sometimes, but Trucy manages to take it away.
Phoenix never wonders if Edgeworth misses him. He knows he does.