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Phoenix never meant for anyone to read it.
The letter stayed buried between legal briefs and half-written notes on his desk.
Midnight light, cold coffee, shaking hands—that’s when he wrote it. Every line was a confession he didn’t have the courage to speak:
“Miles, I don’t know when it started. I only know my heart trips every time I hear your footsteps in the hallway… and I don’t think I can keep pretending it doesn’t.”
He folded it. Didn’t sign it. Told himself it was harmless—just paper, ink, and secrets.
Until he lost it.
That morning in the prosecutor’s office, Edgeworth was calmly reviewing a shared case file.
And there it was—Phoenix’s handwriting, tucked between two pieces of evidence.
He froze.
No raised eyebrow. No smirk. Just silence.
He folded it carefully, slid it into his coat, and said nothing.
Phoenix didn’t notice until lunchtime.
His chest constricted. No. No no no. He tore apart his desk, files, jacket, pockets—nothing.
And then… Edgeworth appeared beside him.
“Wright,” he said softly, “you dropped this.”
The letter was in his gloved hand.
Phoenix’s throat closed. “I— That’s— It’s not—”
Edgeworth’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Can we talk in private?”
His office was too quiet.
The door clicked shut. Phoenix stood there like a man awaiting execution.
Edgeworth set the letter on the desk between them.
“I read it,” he said.
Phoenix’s heart stopped.
“I shouldn’t have, but… I did.”
Silence. Phoenix couldn’t breathe. His vision blurred.
But then—
Edgeworth stepped closer.
“I… feel the same.”
Phoenix blinked. “You—what—?”
Edgeworth’s cheeks were faintly pink. “Please don’t make me repeat it.”
Phoenix’s brain tried to process it—failed—and then everything went dark.
He fainted.
He woke up lying on Edgeworth’s office sofa.
His jacket folded under his head like a pillow.
Something warm wrapped around his hand.
Edgeworth. Holding it.
“Wright? Are you alright?”
Phoenix covered his face with a groan. “Did I just—?”
“Yes,” Edgeworth said. “Quite dramatically.”
Phoenix dared to peek at him.
Miles Edgeworth—calm, composed, thumb lightly brushing his knuckles.
“You should know,” Edgeworth added quietly, “I don’t return letters I don’t want.”
Phoenix blinked. “…So you’ll keep it?”
“For as long as you’ll let me.”
Phoenix’s face turned scarlet. “Then—can I stay too?”
Edgeworth’s smile was small, real, and meant only for him.
“You already are.”
Their hands stayed together.
And for once, silence didn’t hurt.