A/N: Currently writing this for the PW Kink Meme. The prompt: Post GS3 (like way after), Phoenix and Edgeworth meet up with each other (possibly in a new workplace or something), but neither of them recognize each other, and they don't talk so they never get the other's name. After a short while, the two of them fall for each other but don't want to admit it because each still feels dedicated to his old lover. Eventually one caves and so on...
I took some huge liberties with the prompt, mainly so I could fit in a somewhat plausible reason as to why they wouldn't recognize each other. So you get loads of plot! Hooray?
Also, I got a lot of inspiration from the movie Memento; if you haven't seen it, basically there's a color sequence and a black-and-white sequence that alternate throughout the movie. One sequence goes forward in time while the other goes backwards. Keep that in mind for the flashbacks.
That said, hope you don't find this too disappointing...
Edgeworth, Part 1
The café is miles away from the school, but it's the only place he can find that sells bubble tea, and even though he knows that it's unhealthy, he cannot help but indulge himself. After all, he has found precious few things that have comforted him in the past three years.
He tells the woman at the counter his order, then sits down at a booth, his hand reaching up automatically to adjust his cravat as he does so. There is nothing there, of course, but the collar of his black button-down: three years, he thinks to himself, and he still hasn't broken the habit. When will he finally accept it? Gone are the cravats, the magenta suits. Gone are his days as a prosecutor.
And gone are his nights with Phoenix Wright.
He trembles as he sets his briefcase on the table and opens it. Another habit he cannot break—thinking about the past.
Foolish, he tells himself angrily. But even that word brings back memories.
Before he can lose himself in his thoughts again, he takes out a stack of papers and begins to look them over, casually making marks with a red pen as he does so. A waitress comes with his bubble tea. He takes it from her, thanks her. The idea of a grown man drinking something from a straw has always embarrassed him, but as he sits here, chewing on the tapioca, he finds himself not really caring. The minutes pass by as he goes through the papers, flicking an elegant X across any wrong answer he sees.
Half-an-hour later, grading quizzes on American bureaucracy is as boring as ever, and to his dismay, he finds his mind drifting. No, focus, look at the paper.
The Pendleton Act of 1883 was instated because…
It's no good. The question does absolutely nothing to hold his interest.
He remembers everything.
"My head hurts," Wright said, tossing a case file onto the desk. "That witness testimony made no sense. I feel like I'm getting dumber every time I read it."
Edgeworth smirked at him. "And we can't afford to let that happen."
"Ouch," the other replied, but he was smiling. "Anyway, I'm going to take a nap. I'm exhausted. Don't steal anything." He collapsed onto the couch, eyes closed.
The prosecutor picked up the file Wright had dropped and looked at it. He was right; in addition to the numerous contradictions, there seemed to be random mentions of various supernatural events—perhaps the witness was high? He placed the report back on the desk before turning to look at the sleeping man. Funny how he could look even more innocent like this, when he was already wore his heart on his sleeve.
He listened to the sounds of Wright's breathing: slow and even. He had already fallen asleep. On a whim, he decided to approach him, to kneel down by the couch and gently take one of his hands.
There was so much to say to him, but he could never find the words.
"Wright," he whispered, so softly it was nothing more than a breath. And then he leaned over and placed a chaste kiss on his forehead.
To his surprise, there was something holding him when he was done: Wright was now gripping his hand in return.
"I'm sorry," Edgeworth blurted out, losing his composure as blue eyes flickered open to meet gray ones. "I—I just—"
"Don't be sorry," he replied, and before he knew it, Wright's other hand was on his neck, pulling him closer.
And when he put it that way, he couldn't be.