The first time Phoenix stopped talking, Miles almost collapsed from nerves. And he fucked up. Badly. Very badly.
The moment Phoenix pushed the door open and didn’t immediately smile at the sight of Miles stumbling around in the kitchen, at another one of his failed attempts at cooking for his beloved, he knew it had been one of those days.
Phoenix was weary, every wrinkle on his face having lost their softness, turning deep and tired.
Miles abandoned his work, turning off the stove and removing the gloves to go greet him, waiting for him to get out of his shoes and drop the briefcase before taking him in a loose hug.
“Welcome home, love.” Miles said, kissing him welcome. Phoenix kissed back, but didn’t reciprocate the greeting. Gently disentangling himself from Miles, the attorney turned to the kitchen. He only looked at it for a few short moments before smiling softly at him.
It simultaneously warmed Miles’s insides and made his worries multiply. Usually, by now Phoenix would be doing some quip about Miles’s culinary incompetency or asking what he was attempting to do, already readying himself to help. Why was he so quiet? Did something bad happen?
“Phoenix, do you feel alright?”
His concern only grew when Phoenix tiredly shook his head.
“Why? What happened?”
Still, no words, but Phoenix made a weird indecipherable noise, somewhere between aggravated and noncommittal. Miles could see his shoulders raising and his mouth twisting in a frown.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
Phoenix began moving his hands, tensing them in a clawed position to, after a beat, relax again. He repeated the movement, producing another sound, this time leaning more towards aggravated.
“Phoenix, just say something.” Miles's voice was stern and progressively increasing in volume, as his mind focused on his objective of finding out what was wrong.
Blue-brown eyes widened and he tried retreating a step, but Miles caught him by the wrist and pulled back.
Alarmingly, the man’s breathing began to come ragged, small irregular puffs of air leaving his nostrils and chest rising up and down at an unnatural rhythm. A terrified whimper left the back of his throat. Besides that, only silence.
“Phoenix, I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me!”
His voice echoed in the room. I didn’t notice I was raising my voice. Something akin to fear flashed on Phoenix’s eyes and he flinched back as if Miles had slapped him across the face. His mouth dropped open, and then closed again. The pattern repeated itself as Phoenix’s lips curled uncertainly around his teeth, halfway into a snarl, as if he couldn’t decide if he was going to flash fangs in defense like an animal or speak. Finally, Phoenix squeezed out some words, pronouncing each letter carefully and hesitantly, as if it pained him to do so.
“S-s… So-rry…” A pause. “I j-just… go… non… non-ver-bal… so-some… t-i-mes.”
The way he talked, it carried an uncanny resemblance to a toddler just barely enunciating the right phonemes, or like the sounds were stuck in his throat and it was a struggle to get them out.
That concerned Miles to an unhealthy level.
“Phoenix, I don’t understand what is wrong with you, just talk to me!”
The uncertainty on his partner’s face was replaced by brief shock, and then morphed to pure anger in an impressively short window of time. It almost made Miles wince with the strength of it.
That scowl etched itself deep in the creases of his face, the dim lighting only making the shadows it cast over his face sharper, even more menacing. This is wrong. My Phoenix would never look at me like this. Did I do something wrong?
Phoenix angrily pushed him away, forcing Miles to take a couple steps back to keep balance. He stood, stunned at the uncharacteristic reaction, as the attorney took out his phone and typed something, thrusting it on Miles’s chest with a force that left him momentarily winded. In the next moment, he was stomping away, until Miles heard their bedroom door slamming closed with such power he was pretty sure it made the entire apartment rattle.
When he brought the phone up, he saw a Google tab open with ‘what go nonverbal means’ written on the search bar.
He stared at the screen for some seconds, before relenting, hitting the enter button. The first result that popped up was from a renowned psychology newspaper, something about 'shutdowns', and Miles clicked on the link to give it a read.
Some minutes later, when he finished, all the evidence pointed to one single conclusion.
I fucked up.
He only sneaked in bed when he was sure Phoenix was fast asleep, and they didn’t talk about it, though the attorney did apologize for slamming the door on him the morning after.
The second time it happened was in a pretty similar setting.
Miles was in the middle of the workday when he received a phone call from a concerned Apollo Justice.
“He won’t talk to us, Mr. Edgeworth! He only makes these weird noises or moves his hands around in nonsensical motions!” He prattled. “Athena says it isn’t anything bad, but I dunno. I think you should give it a look.”
Miles was loath to end work early, but this was his chance of redeeming himself of last time.
“I’ll be there shortly, Mr. Justice.”
Armed with a lemon cake and the knowledge he had earned reading various psychology articles, Miles strode into the Wright Anything Agency, determined to make things right.
He nodded curtly at Athena, who for once was neck deep in paperwork instead of running around, before a fidgeting Apollo led him to where Phoenix was sitting hunched on his chair, perched over a thin pile of files and surrounded by pillars of stacked papers.
Apollo gave him a serious nod on his way out, and Miles answered with another curt nod. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of this.
The man didn’t take long to notice his presence, jolting slightly in place as the door clicked closed. When he lifted his head, Miles could see the exhaustion engraved on his face. All of his features seemed to be drooping somehow, weighed down by fatigue.
Some positive emotion passed through his face in a flash when his eyes twinkled briefly, before they widened in panic as he remembered his circumstances.
His lips parted as he prepared to speak, undoubtedly trying to avoid another irrational reaction on Miles’s part, but Miles cut him off with a gentle palm to his jaw, thumb over Phoenix’s mouth.
“You don’t need to speak if you don’t want to, dear.” He spoke softly. Phoenix tilted his head to the side in confusion, but released the death grip with which he was squeezing his pen.
“I am very sorry for last time.” He didn’t need to say specifically what he was referring to. Both men knew. Miles dropped the cake in front of him. It was good he already had the foresight to ask for the baker to pre-portion it. “Here, have some. It’s lemon, your favorite.”
Phoenix didn’t move, staring at him, still hesitant. Miles grabbed a nearby chair and dragged it next to him, sitting down.
“It’s alright. Take your time, I’ll be waiting for you right here.”
Phoenix eyed him doubtfully for some additional seconds, until he seemed to find whatever he was looking for when that soft, soft smile was offered to Miles again. If he was interpreting it correctly – which he hoped he was – in that moment, that should mean both a ‘thank you’ and a ‘you’re forgiven’.
That was good, that Phoenix had forgiven him for his transgression. Miles wasn’t sure he could forgive himself, for frightening and disrespecting his beloved to such a level. God, if it was him in Phoenix’s place, he would have done much worse than slam a door; he would have left the apartment and spent the night somewhere unknown to his partner, mulling over the situation and stewing in fury at being treated in such a way. And he sure as hell wouldn’t have forgiven so easily.
He couldn’t even begin to imagine the pain of being forced to talk when everything in your body and mind refused to, already too busy collapsing in on themselves.
He could only hope this showed Phoenix that he deeply regretted his actions, and the man could count on him for everything from here on now. This shouldn't be necessary, Phoenix should’ve been able to be comfortable around him from the start.
But.
Well.
What's done is done, regardless of how much Miles wished he could rewind time and stop himself from being a – for the lack of a better word – complete asshole.
His attention was redirected when Phoenix picked up one of the smaller pieces of cake and popped it whole inside his mouth. A sound of contentment bordering on obscene left him, followed by Miles’s chuckles.
“It’s good, isn’t it, dear?”
Phoenix’s eyes snapped open and he whirled to meet Miles’s own in sudden panic.
“Oh, no, no, love.” Miles assured him in what should be some of the softest words to ever pass through his lips. “Don’t worry, you don’t need to answer. A nod is enough if you want to.”
Something like a sigh came out of Phoenix as his shoulders slumped. He bit on another slice of cake and nodded gratefully, digging into the food as if it would disappear otherwise, seeming just the slightest bit happier than when Miles came in.
Now, this, this is right.
The third time Miles saw it happening was undoubtedly the worst one.
If asked, he would say he was supervising Klavier’s in-trial performance, but he actually just missed seeing Phoenix in the courtroom. With the Chief Prosecutor workload, he was mostly chained to his desk, confined away inside the office, assigning tasks, reviewing paperwork, signing up files and investigating for Interpol whenever Franziska or Lang got in touch to ask for assistance. Like this he could only argue with his beloved when it was playful bickering back home. He didn’t get to battle him in court much anymore, and he missed the thrill of throwing arguments and dramatic poses back and forth with that man.
While he couldn’t exactly do that from the audience, watching him perform his usual dance with one of Miles’s best subordinates was a close enough experience, so he arranged to have a slot free when the trial was scheduled to happen.
“-So, the defense proposes Mr. Whitman couldn’t have done it!” Phoenix bellowed passionately from behind the defense’s bench, striking his iconic pointing posture.
“Ack, Herr Wright.” Klavier tutted from the other side of the room. “Then how would you explain the defendant’s fingerprints on the knife’s handle?”
Phoenix’s stance didn’t falter one bit.
“Simple. My client did touch the knife, but after the crime had been committed! You took a fingerprint analysis, but did you ever think of taking a handprint analysis-!”
Phoenix choked, and that was where things went downhill.
Both hands went down to grip tightly at the stand in search of support. He looked so lost for a moment there Miles’s heart squeezed inside his chest.
“... What of a handprint analysis, Mr. Wright?” The Judge inquired with narrowed eyes.
Phoenix stuttered a few ‘a’s out, incapable of producing any complex phoneme. His eyes widened in panic, and Miles remembered that first night that seemed to have happened so long ago, when Phoenix struggled to enunciate basic words. There was simply no way he would manage to wrap up his argument.
Athena looked at him in concern, the Judge in suspicion and Klavier in confusion as the rest of the gallery began to whisper. Phoenix made wild motions with his hands and arms, desperately trying to convey some message, growing increasingly more agitated when no one seemed to understand.
Miles couldn’t just sit there and watch.
“Your Honor!” He stood up from his seat, voice booming abruptly like a thunder and attracting all the attention in the room. “I ask for a recess! The defense is clearly incapable of proceeding with the trial!”
Phoenix made an indignant sound, but Miles shut him up with a glare.
The Judge hummed, twirling the end of his stupid long beard between his fingers while he threw a glance at Phoenix, before nodding.
“Yes, that seems pretty clear. The Court will adjourn for a fifteen minute recess so the defense can recompose themselves. Court adjourned!”
The Judge hit the gavel and one full millisecond didn’t pass before Miles was sprinting down the gallery to the defense lobby, where an aggravated Phoenix was being escorted into by Athena.
He was trying to fight her off, but his attempts were half-hearted. Even in hysterics he would never risk hurting someone dear to him.
“Mr. Wright! Please! You’re in no condition to continue the trial!” She forced him down in one of the lobby’s stiff couches. Miles approached precisely at that moment, and Athena stepped aside as he occupied the space she was previously in, standing in front of his partner.
The attorney tried to rise, but Miles pushed him back into place with firm palms planted on his shoulders.
“Phoenix, stop.” A desperate whine came from the back of his throat in response. His hands were doing that clawing and releasing thing again, his chest rising and falling unnaturally. He was worried and scared.
“What is worrying you so much?”
His pupils flitted between Miles’s and the door to the courtroom. When Miles turned to look at it, he saw Mr. Whitman peeking inside.
The puzzle pieces inside his mind clicked into place.
“Oh. You’re worried about your client.”
Phoenix nodded in assent.
“Well, in that case, Boss,” Athena piped up from where she was observing the scene unfolding a few feet away. “I can wrap up the trial for us! I know what you were going to say, about the handprint!”
He directed his attention to her, head tilting aside.
“Dear, let her. You know she’s perfectly capable of finishing this. I’ll take the rest of the day off and get you home.”
Phoenix produced an anguished noise. Miles did not need to know exactly what it meant to know what Phoenix was thinking.
‘No! Please, I don’t want to be a bother! I should be capable of doing this, I shouldn’t have to leave my client because of this stupid condition! Why can’t I do this-’
“Love, please, pay attention.” Blue-brown eyes hazy with panic snapped to meet his. “You already proved your client’s innocence, so let Athena simply relay it to the Court. You are not failing because you can’t do that yourself, do you understand?”
A drawn out whine left him.
“No, you’re not being a burden either. Do you think I am a burden whenever you have to put off what you’re occupying yourself with because I had a nightmare or a panic attack?”
Phoenix’s eyes widened in what would be comic if it weren’t for the circumstances, before he shook his head wildly. The last thing he wanted was to make Miles feel like a nuisance.
“There. This is the same, we’re just caring for you.”
Completely still, he searched for something inside Miles’s irises, pupils darting to examine every feature on his face. The prosecutor maintained his expression, and whatever Phoenix found there seemed to be satisfactory, as he slumped forward with a sigh of resignation.
With reluctant movements, he transferred his briefcase to Athena, who, upon taking it in her hands, offered them both a cheerful goodbye before sauntering back into the courtroom.
---------------------------------------
Later, when Miles was sitting on their soft bed with Phoenix curled up on his lap like a particularly big cat, his phone buzzed with a notification. Miles unlocked it to see Athena had messaged him; the trial proceeded just fine and their client had been successfully cleared of all charges.
“Your client was found not guilty.” Miles tenderly pet his scalp, scratching softly between ebony strands of hair. Phoenix shifted slightly and nuzzled more into his stomach, releasing the closest sound to a purr a human could produce.
Comfortable and tranquil over Miles’s thighs, he fell asleep right there.
The fourth time was… oddly peaceful, despite the circumstances.
“Polly! Of course that’s on the rules!”
“No, Trucy, it is not.”
“Won’t you let the Fräulein have her fun, Schatz?”
“Yeah! I mean, who never used Godzilla? It’s the most efficient way of taking down your opponent's buildings!”
“Well, the second most efficient. After all, nothing’s better than stealing them, right, Seb?”
“Um, I-”
“This is Monopoly. Why are you treating it like a battle game?”
“Every strategy game is a battle game, Justice-Dono.”
“If this is a Sun Tzu quote I am going to do unspeakable things.”
“Don’t worry, love, it’s not.”
“By God, Fop, stop being so gay. There are children here.”
“Said children have gay parents.”
“That’s different.”
“Yeah. You two are grosser.”
“Actually, Mystic Maya, I think they’re cute-”
“Why are you roasting me too?!”
Twice every month, a game night would be hosted in the Wright Household. They were always, without exception, the pure essence of chaos.
Today, though, was going to enter history as the most chaotic one to date. They somehow managed to reunite pretty much everyone from the Wright-Edgeworth social circle, save for a few people currently overseas.
Miles was going to pipe up in the middle of the conversation, that somehow strayed into Steel Samurai related territory, when the man next to him scooted closer, whining softly, and he noticed it had been a while since Phoenix last spoke.
Phoenix let his weight fall aside, supported by the solid warmth of Miles. The attorney’s head went to rest on his shoulder, and he closed his eyes.
Miles gazed at him from the corner of his eyes, lifting an arm to wrap around his waist and pull him even closer.
“Are you alright, my love?”
Phoenix simply hummed in response.
“Yes. I understand you.” Miles directed his gaze back to the group arguing passionately on their floor around the crowded Monopoly board. “This is nice, but it’s still quite overwhelming, isn’t it?”
The man nodded slightly in assent, dragging his cheek against Miles’s shoulder where they pressed together. He snuggled even closer, tucking himself further into Miles in an attempt to escape the noise.
“Let’s leave for a moment so we can relax. I do want to have some more mousse, anyway.”
Miles began moving, slowly at first as to let his partner come back from his liquid state and stop depending on Miles’s support to stay up. When he saw Phoenix was upright on his own, he rose all the way, weakly tugging the man up.
They headed to the kitchen, both wincing slightly as Miles turned on the switch, the harsh white lights a far cry from the comfortable dim ones present in the living room for the party. Phoenix took a seat while Miles threw open the fridge door, rummaging around for the pot of lemon mousse his lovely boyfriend made earlier that day.
With the pot in hand, he moved to the tableware drawer, searching for Phoenix’s favored spoon and digging out a random one for himself.
His partner took it with a grateful nod, before digging into the dessert. Miles was quick to follow, and between both men’s love for a well made mousse and their hunger, the pot was almost pristine clean not a full quarter-hour later.
Miles delicately set the void glass on the table, careful as to not make too much noise; they were here to calm down, after all, he didn’t want to startle Phoenix.
Said man took Miles’s empty hands as a signal he could monopolize his attention. With a grunt of effort, he moved to plop himself on Miles’s lap, curling so he could tuck himself under Miles’s chin. It was awkward, as Phoenix, even if a couple inches shorter than him, was still broader and bulkier than his lean form, but, well, Miles didn’t really have the heart to shoo him away.
One of his hands went to hold Phoenix’s waist, the other ran in smooth strokes down spiky hair. The attorney went soft and pliant, turning to a pile of mush under Miles’s tender touches. He snuggled more into him, releasing a gravelly sigh.
“Feeling sleepy, love?” He chuckled. Phoenix nodded into his skin.
“We should take you to bed, then.”
Phoenix whined.
“Don’t concern yourself with the party. I am certain they’ll understand.”
A questioning whimper.
“Yes, yes, it’ll be alright.”
A huff left his partner, and over the course of only a few seconds, Miles could feel his breathing getting slower and heavier.
“Ps.” He playfully flicked him on the forehead. Phoenix retreated a couple inches with a curt, displeased whine. “I said to go to bed, not to fall asleep on me.”
Phoenix grumbled, but didn't move.
“Come on, dear.” Miles lightly pushed him, and Phoenix reluctantly slid off his lap. Miles rose, taking Phoenix’s hand in his and pulling him to the direction of the bedroom. The man trudged behind him with sluggish movements, and immediately flopped face-first into the mattress when they entered the room.
Miles lifted a single, amused eyebrow.
“Not even a bath?”
Phoenix made a noncommittal sound.
“Or a change into your pajamas?”
Same response.
His lips involuntarily twitched at the corners, twisting into the form of a smile he couldn't contain.
“Fine. I’ll let it, but just this once. Don't make this into a habit.”
Phoenix wriggled under the covers, and Miles smirked, knowing it was just for show. He was fully aware sleep would elude his partner until he fulfilled his usual nightly routine. A creature of habit, he was.
He closed the door and marched back to the living room, intending to dismiss the party. As he stepped there, the mood seemed to have lulled, the people engaging in small talk. He announced the end of the night, and with everyone’s help, the place was spotless in just under half an hour.
The entire group left, and when Miles frowned at the retreating silhouette of one Trucy Wright, she offered him a too-innocent smile and a ‘I’ll spend the night at Polly’s!’, to the apparent chagrin of the young attorney.
Miles waved them off and turned back inside, closing the blinds on the way. Cautiously, he opened their bedroom door, careful as to not let the hinges creak. Inside, he was met with the sight of Phoenix, clad in his pajamas and smelling of lavender, half-tucked under the blankets and snoring peacefully away.
He took some moments to watch his beloved’s sleeping form, the way his fingers twitched in his sleep and his chest rose and fell in a calm rhythm.
How did I get so lucky?
The temptation to just curl around the man and let sleep claim him was strong, but as much as he poked fun at Phoenix for being such a creature of habit, he couldn’t say he was any better.
With a smile on his face, he went through the motions of his nightly regimen. When he left their bathroom, in his comfortable silk attire, Miles silently glided over to their bed, lifting the covers and slipping quietly under them with practiced ease.
He plastered himself to Phoenix’s back, snaking both arms around his midsection and pulling him close, taking a deep breath of lavender and softener and Phoenix.
He fell asleep, with the comforting weight of his partner in his arms.
The fifth time Miles had already predicted.
“I don’t want wedding vows.”
The priest looked questioningly at him.
“But the vows are an integral part of the process of marriage, Mr. Edgeworth.”
Miles narrowed his eyes at him, arms crossed and tapping his biceps in irritation. He was hoping the priest would just accept his request, but he figured that would be asking for too much; vows were usually one of the most anticipated parts of a wedding.
“I do not think they are necessary.”
The priest matched his narrowed eyes in return.
“Yes, they are, Sir.”
Why does he have to be so insistent? Miles didn’t want to talk about Phoenix’s condition behind his back, but this man wouldn’t back down without a reasonable motive.
“My fiancé has a condition in which he stops talking if he feels too overwhelmed, regardless if the circumstances are good or bad.” Miles stopped there, thinking that would be enough and the priest would be able to connect the dots by himself.
Unfortunately, it seemed Miles was overestimating his intellect, when the elder simply lifted a questioning eyebrow at him.
Between gritted teeth, Miles spat the rest of his reasoning. “I am almost certain he will stop talking at the altar, and I don’t want to put the pressure of saying the vows over him.”
A slight widening of the eyes was all the indication Miles got that the man comprehended his reasons. They stared at each other for some long moments, before the priest turned aside in resignation, grumbling in clear displeasure.
That had been months ago, and Miles was still stewing in rage. Why was it so hard to understand he didn’t want vows? Even without the added motive of Phoenix’s possible nonverbal-ness, he still thought they were unnecessary.
Why did he need to make vows over the altar when he already made them everyday; breathing them on sunkissed skin, writing them in the patterns he drew with careful touches on his partner’s body, painting them in every smile and every kiss?
He didn’t need some asinine words to validate his love.
“Little Brother. It’s time.”
His sister’s voice snapped him back to the present. She gazed at him with that look that many would think menacing and unfeeling, but in which he could see the underlying softness in the way her eyes didn’t narrow and her posture was relaxed, rather than stiff and perfect.
She offered him her arm, and he took it.
It was time for the altar.
---------------------------------------
Miles watched as Phoenix was guided up the carpet by Maya. He could almost see the way Phoenix was buzzing with anticipation.
And.
God.
He was gorgeous.
See, Miles didn’t save money for their wedding. Everything needed to be perfect. And everything was perfect.
He rented Phoenix’s favorite chapel; a beautiful place, built in times long gone, of an elaborate rococo architecture that captivated the eyes of anyone who passed through it. His partner’s fixation for old churches, sown by a catholic upbringing and fed by the Art major’s Architecture classes even after he left religion behind, guided him in his choice – and he couldn’t say he regretted it.
The flowers he ordered were scattered all around the place; big, vibrant bouquets of sunflowers and red chrysanthemums and sprinkled forget-me-nots, decorating every available surface in splashes of brightness against the whites, golds and faint blues of the structure.
All the guests were dressed to the part, following an unofficial dress-code they agreed between themselves that, while keeping every person’s own style and quirks, matched pleasantly to one another.
The sun itself, shining through the stained glass windows, projecting detailed biblical images in vivid colors on the ground and walls.
But, none of it came even close to match the man marching up the few steps of the altar this instant. His eyes, his smile, his shine obfuscated everything else.
Now close, they held their hands together, facing each other. Miles, for a moment, gazed deeply into mismatched eyes, everything but him forgotten, thrown aside by his mind as completely irrelevant.
Until, it was, the priest cleared his throat behind them, and both men jolted back into awareness.
“We are here today to witness the holy matrimony between Phoenix Wright and Miles Edgeworth, under the eyes of the Law and the eyes of God.”
He turned to Miles.
“Miles Edgeworth, do you take Phoenix Wright for your lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you apart?”
Miles nodded, slowly and surely, turning aside and releasing one of Phoenix’s palms for only a moment while he signed the marriage certificate.
The priest lifted an eyebrow – again – but turned to Phoenix anyway.
“Phoenix Wright, do you take Miles Edgeworth for your lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you apart?”
Phoenix answered with a flurry of short nods, and he surely must’ve gotten at least a little dizzy. He hurried to sign the certificate, almost dropping the pen at least twice in the process.
“You may kiss.”
They pulled each other at the same time, and met in the middle, in a kiss that even if perfectly ordinary, felt simply incredible. Because they were here, and they were together. The closest they can possibly be in the eyes of the Law, that guided them through so much of their lives.
The audience cheered, but none of it could pierce the little bubble that formed around them. In that moment in time, in that place in the cosmos, they were everything that existed.
They separated, and one of Miles’s hands went up to cup his cheek, Phoenix’s fingers from his recently freed palm persistently interlacing with his.
Miles smiled at him.
‘I love you.’
Phoenix smiled back.
‘I love you too.’
They didn’t need words or an elaborate speech to tell each other that. Their love was in every tender touch, in every smile, in every kiss. In every morning routine where Phoenix cooked pancakes for a still sleepy Miles. In cuddling on their couch to watch some corny movie. In sharing a blanket on a cold night. In righting a crooked lapel. In falling asleep in each other's arms. In flowers; gifts; chocolate; a trip to the grocery store; a well-made dinner; holding hands; watching the stars. It transcended the barrier of spoken language.
Words are not everything. They never were, and they never will.