Archive of Our Own ^beta

Not everyone can see it. It is, in fact, a lot more common for people to not be able to.

But Miles can see it, and he's pretty sure he's the only one.

There was a time where he thought Phoenix's persistent attempts at talking to him was because he too could see it, but that notion was quickly dismissed—Phoenix hadn't a clue.

It’s tied around his ring finger—a thin, red light that only vaguely resembles a thread. It's not corporeal; he can't touch it. Can't untie it. Can't cut it off. God knows he tried. When Phoenix had reentered his life, Miles had done everything to push him away, unaware of the consequences. He'd tried to keep his distance. To avoid entanglement. But fate is a funny think. Red strings, even more so.

In the end, despite Miles efforts, they were drawn together again.

And in the end, it wasn't even Miles who severed the thread.

It was Phoenix.

"I... I never wanted to see you again!"

"It'd been better for everyone if you never came back from the dead, Edgeworth!"

A few callous words, spoken in the heat of the moment, was all it took for Miles' life to fall apart completely.

He had watched, somewhere between horrified and fascinated, as the red string tying him to Phoenix severed, the faint glow dimming instantaneously. A sharp pain had shot through his chest, climbing up his arm and all the way to his throat, where it felt like an invisible hand was choking him.

Oh, Miles had thought. This is what heartbreak feels like.

-

He didn't tell anyone for the longest time. Didn't think it would ever need to be brought up.

Despite making up with Phoenix, the thread stayed cut, and Miles wasn't sure what to make of that.

What did it mean, that their relationship was stronger than ever, but the red string that had once connected them now hung limp and dimming from his ringfinger? Did this mean that once severed it would never go back to normal again? But their relationship, their friendship seemed unaffected by it.

And so, for a long time, Miles doesn't think about it. He gets so used to seeing the dead string that it doesn't distract him anymore, and for a while, he even forgets.

Until one day.

"Headache?" Lang asks, handing Miles an aspirin and a glass of water. Miles hums and takes them, popping the aspirin into his mouth and chugging half the glass.

"You should see a doctor," Lang tells him. "The headaches, the dizzy spells. The erectile dysfunction."

Miles nearly chokes on the water.

"I do not have erectile dysfunction," he hisses scandalized, face red. Lang looks bored in the face of his fury.

"Well, whatever it is that's caused you to be unable to get it up the last three times."

Miles takes out a napkin from his pocket and wipes at his mouth.

"What do you care?" He grumbles. "You got off, didn't you?"

The thing between him and Lang isn’t serious. It's just fun—blowing off steam when they see each other. Lang had opened up to him one night about not having a soulmate. Miles had never told anyone about his severed soulmate connection, and he wasn't about to start with Lang of all people, as much as he respected the man. But he had confessed to being in a similar boat, and one thing lead to another.

"I like to know my bedmates are actually enjoying themselves," Lang tells him, taking a sip of his coffee.

Miles blushes a bit. "It was very enjoyable," he mumbles stiffly, downing the rest of his water.

Lang shoots him an amused glance, before turning serious.

"You've been looking a little pale too. You're not eating—"

"Are you keeping tabs on me? I swear, between you and Franziska—"

"Here."

Miles falls quiet and Lang slides a card across the table. He picks it up.

"What's this?"

"My friend. Best damn doctor in the country. See her before you head home for good."

Miles makes no promises, but slips the card into his pocket.

"So," he says, desperate to change the subject. "About the case—"

-

Dr Emer Gency was probably Miles' age, though she looked a lot younger. She had light blue hair cut in a short bob and round glasses that she constantly had to push up her nose. When she spoke her words were clear and enunciated, an obvious sign that she was used to treating older patients that might be a bit hard of hearing. After taking blood, urine and stool samples and reviewing the results, Dr Gency comes in, clipboard tightly clutched to her chest and with a pensive look on her face. Miles feels his heart rate speed up.

She takes a seat across from him in a chair, putting the clipboard on the table.

Taking a deep breath, she starts.

"Unfortunately, Mr Edgeworth, it seems you suffer from a severed soul string."

Miles blinks. "What?"

Dr Gency looks deeply unhappy as she explains. "You had a soul string. A red string of fate tying you to your soulmate. Unfortunately, it has been severed."

Miles holds up a hand to stop her talking.

"I know this is a lot to take in—" She begins again and Miles actually hushes her then. She falls quiet.

His mind is spinning, he can't get anything to make sense.

"I—know this," he finally says after a minute of silence. Dr Gency frowns, looking a bit confused, so Miles takes a deep breath.

"It was—what? Eight or something, years ago. I saw it sever. Felt it in my chest, like," his hand goes up to rest over his heart, phantom pains shooting through his chest at the memory. "It was like being stabbed. Then choked."

Dr Gency leans back in the chair, crossing her arms over her chest.

"You saw it—eight years ago?" It's like she doesn't know which claim to tackle first.

"I've been able to see it for a few years now," Miles admits. "Ever since...My soulmate came back into my life."

He flexes his hand and stares down at the string, no longer glowing and now with a brownish tint.

"Do you still see it?" She asks. Miles nods.

"It's a bit grey at the end. It wasn’t like that before."

"And it's been eight years since it severed?"

Miles nods, hand coming up to grip his arm, turning away his head so he doesn't have to see the pity on her face.

"I—don't know how you've survived for this long," Dr Gency admits quietly, startling Miles.

"What do you mean?" He asks, turning his face to look back at her.

"What you have is called soul sickness. It's when you're soulmate rejects you and severs your connection. It's—fatal. Usually people live up to three years after the red string has been cut. But according to you, that happened eight years ago?"

Miles swallows. "I thought soul sickness was a myth."

Dr Gency shakes her head. "It's very real. This is only my third encounter with it, but I know enough to tell you it's not a myth."

Miles stares down at his shoes. "Are you telling me I'm dying?"

Her answer, when it comes, is so soft and quiet it borders on inaudible.

"Yes."

-

"Are you sure you're okay? Is being chief prosecuter taking that much out of you?"

Phoenix is only half teasing, mostly to cover up how genuinely worried he is. Miles gives him a small smile, but it's a trembling thing.

"I'm fine, Wright. Just, a lot of things to get done."

Yeah, that seemed to be the excuse all the time. Every time. For the past year.

"I don't mind helping out," Phoenix tries, but Miles waves him off.

"Nothing you need to bother yourself with. Doesn't Trucy have a show tonight?"

Phoenix nods, watching intensely as Miles sorts through a pile of documents with shaking fingers.

Phoenix doesn't know exactly when he started noticing something being off. Maybe during one of his visits to Europe during his disbarment. During that time they saw each other so rarely that Phoenix was just happy to be by Miles' side again. Then Miles had collapsed when they were out and after that...

After that it was impossible not to notice. The way he grew paler, the way he ate less and lost weight, the way his hands would shake and how he'd get dizzy out of nowhere. And how he was always cold. No matter the season, no matter the temperature, Miles Edgeworth was always cold.

And Phoenix has had just about enough of it all.

Putting his hands in his pockets he grips the magatama. It emanates warmth and feels hard and smooth against his fingers.

"Edgeworth," he says loudly, causing Miles to look up. "What is going on with you?"

The room darkens and sound of chains rattling fills his ears.

His breath hitches.

Five, black locks. He hasn't seen that since...

"Nothing's going on with me, Wright. You're wasting your concerns on me. Go now. Give Trucy my best."

Phoenix stands frozen in place. He doesn't know how he's supposed to just leave as if nothing's wrong. As if his world hasn't been flipped on its head.

Something is wrong with Miles. And whatever it is, it seems the man would rather die than tell Phoenix the truth.

It hurts. He really had thought they were passed this. Over the years, especially during Phoenix's disbarment, the two had grown a lot closer. They were friends now. Real friends, that trusted one another. Or so Phoenix had thought.

He unsticks his feet from the ground and stumbles out of Miles' office, mumbling his goodbye as he closes the door behind him.

That evening he can barely even concentrate on Trucy's show. He claps when others clap, cheers when others cheer. On their walk home Trucy takes his hand in hers and stops him in his tracks.

"Are you okay, daddy?" She asks, eyes filled to the brim with concern. "You seem a bit spacey tonight."

Feeling an overwhelming love for his daughter, he pulls her into a hug. She's gotten so big, he notes as she buries her face in his shoulder and hugs him back.

"I'm sorry, Truce," he tells her softly. "I didn't mean to seem—You were great tonight. That, at least, did not escape me."

Trucy pulls away and smiles. "I know that, daddy," she says and Phoenix brings a hand up to his face to hide his smile. Of course she knows. Trucy was never one to doubt herself.

"I wasn't asking to scold you. I'm just worried."

Phoenix gnaws on his bottom lip. As much as he likes to give Miles shit for not being more open, Phoenix really doesn't have a lot of room to talk. He's trying to be better, especially for Trucy, but it's hard for him. He used to wear his heart on his sleeve, and while that was still true to some degree, he had a horrible habit of bottling things up.

Trucy tips her head to the side and studies him with that knowing gaze.

"It's uncle Miles, isn't it?"

Phoenix almost laughs at how easily she came to the correct conclusion. Instead he gives her an enigmatic smile.

"What makes you say that?"

She shrugs. "Whenever something's wrong it's usually about him. Or Miss Fey." Her eyes go a little round. "Did Miss Fey get kidnapped again?"

This time Phoenix does laugh, and he pulls Trucy into a one-armed embrace as they keep walking.

"No, no worries there. Maya is just fine."

She hums, pressing her index finger to her bottom lip.

"So it is about uncle Miles," she concludes, not a question.

Phoenix takes a deep breath. "I think something might be wrong," he admits softly. "Edgeworth won't talk to me about it, and I don't know what to do."

He almost cringes at how pathetic he sounds, but he forces himself to let the confession hang in the air. There's no taking it back. It's out there now.

"He has been looking unwell," Trucy agrees thoughtfully.

Phoenix swallows, feeling a pang at how casually his daughter says it. He's wholly unsurprised that Trucy noticed. She can be scary observant at times.

"He tries to hide it," he tells her as they pass under the streetlight. He glances up, allowing himself to be momentarily blinded by the bright light. "But when you spend as much time with him as I have, it's hard not to notice all the things that just aren't right about him lately. I just hate that he feels like he can't talk to me."

Trucy gnaws on her bottom lip.

"Maybe—" She begins carefully, then falls silent. Phoenix looks at her.

"Maybe...?"

She sighs. "Maybe he doesn't want you to worry." She gives his hand a comforting squeeze. "Sometimes people hide things from the people they care about, because they don't want to hurt them."

Something in the way she says that has Phoenix heart tightening in his chest and he can't help but feel like she isn't only talking about Miles.

"But I can't help him if he doesn't tell me what's wrong," he tells her softly, and he wonders idly if this is how Maya felt during that year after Miles' disappearance, when Phoenix refused to talk about him. Had he made her feel this helpless with his insistence that nothing was wrong and he could handle it?

Trucy, to her credit, actually stays silent for a while, mulling it over. Phoenix truly marvels over her emotional intelligence. While it is the result of having had to grow up too fast, he still admires this side of his daughter.

"Maybe he's scared?" She finally says. "And you have to show him that no matter what, you're not leaving him. No matter what, you will stay by his side."

Phoenix stops and looks at her. "You think I should push?" He asks, unsure. Miles is so guarded. He would hate being cornered.

Trucy's eyes gleam menacingly and she gives a sly smile.

"Be stubborn," she corrects. "You're really good at that."

Phoenix laughs then—a real, genuine laugh that rumbles in his chest and makes his stomach cramp a bit. He removes her hat to place a kiss atop of her head.

"You're a smart one, Trucy Wright," he says, ruffling her hair.

She takes the hat back and puts it on her head. Proudly, she announces: "I get it from you!" And the two make it home, hand in hand, Phoenix reflecting on how lucky he is to have a daughter like Trucy.

-

"So here's the thing!"

Miles looks up from his papers, blinking rapidly as Phoenix comes in to focus.

It's his own fault, really. He should've known better than to expect Phoenix Wright to leave well enough alone.

"You're my best friend," Phoenix goes on, and Miles feels his face warm at the declaration. He opens his mouth, but Phoenix doesn't let him get a word in.

"—and I know I have no room to talk. I kept my plan regarding Kristoph a secret till the last moment, even though you just wanted to help me. I'm hard-headed, stubborn and I like to sort out my own messes. That being said, I hate seeing you like this. I hate not knowing what's going on with you and I hate being kept in the dark. If this is how I made you feel during my disbarment, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, and please, please tell me what is going on with you. I promise whatever it is I will be here for you and support you. Seeing you like this is killing me, so please...just...please..."

Miles stares as he watches Phoenix's shoulders shake. He hadn't realized Phoenix had been this effected by Miles' declining health. Feeling oddly touched, and decidedly miserable at the same time, Miles takes off his glasses.

Telling the entire truth is out of the question. But he could throw him a life line.

"I'm dying."

Okay, so not a life line exactly.

Phoenix freezes, eyes going wide and mouth opening and closing with no sounds coming out. Finally, he chokes out, "What?"

Miles sighs and puts his glasses on the desk, folding his hands.

"It's a severed soul string. I have, maybe four months left. In two I'll be bedridden."

Phoenix just keeps staring at him.

"You have a soulmate?" He whispers, voice shaking.

Miles hums. "Had, would be more correct. They severed the string binding us together."

Phoenix moves inside and collapses on the couch.

"Is...Can't we do something?" His eyes are wide and pleading. "Edgeworth..."

Miles sighs. "For that to happen they would need to mend it. They'd have to...take back, what they said. And even then, it's been so long who knows if it would even work..."

Phoenix flies up from the couch. "Then you have to try! Do you know who it is? I'll talk to them, I'll—"

"Wright!"

Phoenix falls quiet.

"It might not work," he repeats softly and his heart breaks a little as he notices the way the other man's eyes shine with wetness.

He swallows. "Do you at least know who it is. So I can have a talk or two about rejecting you?"

Miles smiles warmly.

"I know who it is," he admits. "But they don't know I'm theirs. They don't even know they cut our string."

"Oh my god," Phoenix whispers, hand coming up to cover his mouth as he falls back on the couch. "You saw it. The string. You—you saw it."

Miles holds out a hand. "See it," he corrects softly. "Technically it's still there. When it was intact it was red, when it severed it became brown and slowly, it's been turning grey. It used to be just the ends that were grey. Now it's the entire thing."

"And they...your soulmate, couldn't see it?"

Miles shakes his head. "Definitely not."

"Can't you talk to them? I'm sure if you told them they would take it back!"

Miles frowns. "I tell them, they take it back...Then what? Say it doesn't work. Not only will they have to live with the fact that they unintentionally severed our string, they will have to live with my death on their conscious."

"It could work!" Phoenix insists, bullheaded as ever.

Miles shakes his head. "I have reason to believe it won't."

Phoenix's face twist in a grimace. "What reason could you possibly have—"

Miles slams a hand on his desk. "If it could be fixed it would be by now!" He snaps and Phoenix jumps. Miles takes a deep breath and smooths his hand down his cravat. "This person. I've known them for years. We are friends. If the string could be mended it would've been by now. But it hasn't. So—"

He waves his hand in the air like an attempt to expell the tense and awkward atmosphere. Phoenix sighs before bending over his knees and clutching his head

"This can't be happening," Miles hears him whisper. "You can't die!"

Miles sighs. "We all die eventually. Some of us a bit earlier than others."

Phoenix's head flies up and he glares at Miles.

"Don't you dare try to make light of this!" He hisses with such anger it sends a shiver down Miles' spine.

He clears his throat and straightens a bit in his chair. "I'm not," he carefully assures Phoenix. "Wright, obviously I'm not, I'm just—" he drags a hand across his face. "Coping. I don't want to die. But there's nothing I can do."

Phoenix keeps glaring at him. "And when were you gonna tell me?" He demands. "I've been worried sick about you ever since you collapsed and you kept assuring me it was nothing. We're you ever gonna tell me?"

Miles looks away, Phoenix's stare too much to bear. His hands tremble as he clenches them into fists on the desk.

"I didn't want to worry you," Miles admits quietly, voice raw. "I thought I could handle it. Alone."

Phoenix lets out a wounded noise—wet and broken as he scrubs his face with his hands.

"You idiot," he mutters fiercely. "You absolute idiot." His voice cracks and Miles flinches at the sound.

"I didn't want your pity," he admits. "Or your grief. I wanted to spare you that much."

"You don't get to make that decision for me!" Phoenix explodes, shooting up from the couch and beginning to pace the office like a caged animal. "You don't get to just—just decide to disappear without giving me the chance to fight for you!"

Miles closes his eyes, weariness dragging at him like lead weights. "There’s no fight to be had, Wright."

"Like hell there isn’t!" Phoenix turns to face him, his eyes shining with determination through the gathering tears. "You said it yourself—the string is still there. Grey or not, it's there! Which means something, doesn’t it?"

"It means it’s dying," Miles says flatly. "The bond is fading. What's left is barely a memory of what once was."

"But it's not gone." Phoenix moves closer, standing right in front of the desk now. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides. "Edgeworth, listen to me. I don’t care how hopeless you think it is. I don’t care if you think it’ll hurt them, or you, or both of you. You deserve to live. And I'm not going to stand by and watch you just...slip away!"

Miles meets his gaze, something fragile and vulnerable flickering in his usually composed expression. "Wright, if I tell them, and it doesn't work—" he swallows hard—"then these last few months will be filled with nothing but guilt. I would rather they remember me fondly than burden them with that."

Phoenix shakes his head, a desperate laugh escaping him. "You really are the most infuriating man I've ever met."

"So you've told me. Repeatedly."

Phoenix’s chest heaves as he struggles to find the words. Finally, he leans heavily against the desk, lowering his head until he's almost at eye level with Miles.

"Tell me who it is," he says, voice ragged. "Please. If you won’t save yourself... let me try."

And it's touching, really, how much Phoenix cares. Miles carefully sets a hand over one of Phoenix's clenched fists, giving a gentle squeeze.

"I'm sorry."

-

So, it's Mr Lang, right? It has to be.

Miles had said his soulmate was a friend. Someone he had known for years. So, Lang. Right? Right?

"What exactly do you need his number for?" Franziska asks him when she answers the phone.

Oh. Uh...

"It's a surprise," he blurts out. "For Edgeworth."

Franziska lets out a sigh. "You two truly are absolutely foolishly foolish when it comes to each other," she tells Phoenix, which just confuses him.

"Sure," he agrees, because it's always better to agree with whatever nonsense Franziska is spouting than arguing with her. Even if they're on the phone he still fears that she will find a way to whip him for any perceived slights. The phone vibrates and he moves it from his ear to see a message with Shi-Long Lang's contact information attached to it.

"Thank you, Miss von Karma," he says and she makes a dismissive little noise under her breath.

"Tell my little brother to call me," she demands, and with that, she hangs up.

Phoenix clicks the number and makes the call.

"Lang speaking."

Why did he even sound hot? Phoenix hated him.

"Is this, Shi-Long Lang? I'm Phoenix Wright."

Silence. Not a great start.

"I-I'm a defense attorney," Phoenix explains, a bit sheepish. "I work a lot with Edgeworth—"

"I know who you are."

Huh. Why did Lang sound like he wanted to put Phoenix through a meat grinder?

"Uhm, so you know, Edgeworth hasn't been doing great—"

"The severed soul string, yeah, I know."

Phoenix stops pacing. "You...know?"

"Who do you think made him go to the doctor in the first place. Lord only knows he wouldn't have done it of his own volition."

That...made sense. If Miles had begun feeling poorly when he was working with Lang it was only natural for the man to notice.

But...

"So if you know, it's not...you?"

"Me?" Lang laughs. "You thought I was his soulmate? Nah, I don't even have a soulmate. And Miles' string was severed before he met me."

What?

"Look, I get that you want to help him, that was my first instinct too. But I think you need to leave this alone."

Phoenix feels cold all over. "He's dying."

"I know," Lang says quietly, and Phoenix is pretty sure he's not imagining the note of pain running through those words. "But he doesn't want any of us interfering. The least we can do is honor that wish."

Phoenix hangs up.

So not Lang. Someone who was his friend before Lang...Gumshoe? He guesses it could be. Platonic soulmates were as common as romantic ones.

But if it was Gumshoe, maybe Miles had a point in not telling. If Gumshoe had unknowingly damaged their red string of fate and caused Miles' death the man would never forgive himself.

"Shit." Phoenix sits down at his desk, feeling lost.

What now?

-

"Your soulmate called me."

Miles startles. "Wright?" He asks before he can stop himself. Lang hums.

"So it is Wright," he says and Miles facepalms. "He thought I was your soulmate."

Miles sputters. "What?"

Lang laughs. "Right? How stupid can one get."

"He is pretty stupid," Miles agrees, a disgustingly fond smile making it over his lips.

Lang sighs. "Why won't you just tell him?"

Miles moves the phone from one ear to the other. "You know why."

"It's gross how nobel you are," Lang informs him and Miles rolls his eyes.

"I'm not nobel, I'm just—"

"In love?"

Christ, is that what this was? Miles' lips curl downward.

He sinks back into his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose as if that might stop the heat rising to his face.

"Don't be ridiculous," he mutters, but even to his own ears, the protest sounds feeble.

Lang laughs again, low and knowing. "You’re pathetic, Edgeworth."

Miles glares at the far wall. "I am not."

"You are," Lang insists. "You’re dying because you won’t inconvenience your soulmate by telling him he’s your soulmate. That’s beyond pathetic."

"It’s not about inconvenience," Miles hisses, voice taut. "It’s about burden." He drops his hand to the desk, fingers drumming anxiously. "If I told him—if he knew—then every choice he made afterward would be colored by guilt. Even if the bond is fixed itself... he deserves better than to feel obligated to love me."

Lang is quiet for a second, which is rare enough to make Miles shift uneasily.

Then Lang says, "You're an idiot."

Miles closes his eyes. "You’re not the first person to tell me that today."

"He called me," Lang says, and Miles rolls his eyes.

"So you've said."

"Don't you wonder how he got my number?"

That stops Miles in his tracks. His fingers freeze on the desk and he blinks.

"He probably went to that scary sister of yours. From what you've told they don't have the best relationship. But he reached out, so that he could get in touch with me. Probably to put me in my place. He did that for you."

Miles bites the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood.

"So maybe," Lang finishes, "you should stop trying to be so damn noble and realize that he already loves you, you fool."

Miles doesn’t answer. He can’t. His throat is too tight.

Lang sighs. "Look, I gotta go. I’ve got a crime scene to investigate. But, uh..." He pauses. "Don’t die, Edgeworth. You’re less annoying alive."

The line clicks dead before Miles can find the words to reply.

-

The pain is sudden and sharp, and for a moment, Miles wonders if he's been stabbed.

"MILES EDGEWORTH!"

Oh, it's just Franziska, who greeted him with her signature whip.

"Don't do that!" Phoenix squeaks out, a bit green in the face. "He's—"

Miles sends a glare to silence him and Phoenix swallows before looking away, letting the unfinished sentence hang in the air.

"What are you doing here?" He asks her.

"I take it Mr Wright failed to relay my message."

Remembering that he's not supposed to know that Phoenix and Franziska had talked, he turns to Phoenix.

"When did you speak with Franziska?"

Phoenix looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Uh—"

"He needed my superior knowledge for a case," Franziska says, holding out an arm grandly.

Huh. Franziska must be more fond of Phoenix than she originally let on, if she was covering for him like this.

"I see," Miles says, hiding a smile behind a hand.

"Now tell me, little brother. Why do you look like that?"

Miles blinks. "Like what?"

"Like you're dying."

-

Phoenix is sore for days after Franziska's visit. After finding out about Miles she had been furious at him for keeping it from her, and Phoenix for knowing about it before her. Miles, due to dying, had been spared. Phoenix, had not.

"Daddy!"

Phoenix looks up to see Trucy run in to his office with a newspaper. He frowns.

"Truce?"

"Have you seen this?" She slams the newspaper down on his desk. There, front page, in bold letters, "CHIEF PROSECUTER MILES EDGEWORTH RESIGNS"

He wasn't surprised. Miles health had taken a sharp downturn the past couple of days and Miles had already told him he was expecting to be bedridden at the end of his life. Still, seeing this was a painful reminder that he didn't have much time left. And Phoenix was still nowhere close to figuring out how to save Miles.

"Daddy, is uncle Miles gonna be okay?"

For the first time ever, Trucy sounds scared. Phoenix looks up at her. She's got a clenched fists pressed to her chest, head bowed and looking so small.

Phoenix stands up an pulls her into a hug.

"He's gonna be fine," he promises. "I'll do everything in my power to ensure it."

-

Fia Aed is the doctor in the states that Dr Gency had recommended Miles go to once he moved home. She is an elderly woman with severe frownlines and black hair greying at the temples.

"You really should consider telling him," she tells him for the hundredth time. "It could save your life."

Miles shakes his head. "I'm good."

Dr Aed scoffs with derision. "You are far from good, honey."

She's at Miles home, setting him up with a bunch of IV bags since he can no longer stand on his own two legs. It's not long now. He has no energy for anything anymore and can barely keep food and drinks down.

Miles watches listlessly as Dr. Aed bustles around his bedroom, adjusting the IV stand like she’s rearranging furniture rather than setting up the equipment that’s keeping him alive.

"I know you’re stubborn," she says, voice sharp and no-nonsense as she checks the flow of one of the bags. "Lord knows I’ve met my share of mule-headed fools, but you take the cake."

Miles lets his head loll against the pillows propping him up in bed, too tired to argue. Even sitting up is exhausting now. Every part of him aches like his body is already preparing for death.

"You've got someone who could save you," Dr. Aed continues, her voice softening just slightly. "A rare thing, that. Most people don't get second chances with a broken string."

Miles closes his eyes. He doesn't want to have this conversation again. "It isn't that simple."

Dr. Aed snorts. "Honey, nothing important ever is."

She adjusts the blanket over his lap, her hands surprisingly gentle. Miles forces himself to meet her eyes. There’s no pity there—only a stubborn, burning kind of determination that reminds him far too much of another certain infuriating man.

"If you don't tell him soon," she says quietly, "you won’t have the strength left to."

Miles swallows, his throat dry and raw. He knows that. He’s known it for weeks. But still... the thought of burdening Phoenix with this truth, with the knowledge that his careless words had nearly killed the person he called his best friend—it’s unbearable.

He already sees the guilt in Phoenix’s eyes whenever he so much as coughs too hard.

If he told him everything... if Phoenix pity-loved him... it would be a hollow, miserable victory.

"I won't chain him to me out of guilt," Miles says hoarsely. "I'd rather die."

Dr. Aed sits down heavily in the armchair across from him, studying him with an exhausted sort of patience.

"You’re not giving him much credit," she says after a long moment. "And you’re not giving yourself much, either."

Miles closes his eyes again, feeling the exhaustion drag him under like a tide.

It’s not fair. He finally had a home. He finally had people. He finally had Wright.

And now it was all slipping through his fingers.

The last thing he hears before drifting into a restless, fevered sleep is Dr. Aed’s voice, low and certain:

"Tell him. Before it’s too late."

-

"If you don't tell him I will."

Franziska doesn't even bother putting down her knife and fork as she casually threatens to turn Miles' life upside down.

Miles has to turn away his face because the mere sight of food makes him nauseous. Then her words registers and he snaps his head back to stare at her.

"You wouldn't," he says, though to be frank, she probably would.

"If it means saving you," she says with a shrug. "You don't get to die on me, Miles Edgeworth. If I have to drag you back from hell myself then so be it."

"Are you assuming I'm going to hell? That's homophobic, you know," he mumbles, swallowing down the excess saliva flooding his mouth as he tries to keep himself from gagging.

Franziska rolls her eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out of her head.
"You are not funny," she snaps, slicing neatly into her steak with violent precision. "And if you must know, I'm not assuming you will go to hell because you're gay, I'm assuming you will go to hell for your taste in men. I mean, seriously. Wright?"

Miles lets out a dry, humorless laugh, slumping further into the couch cushions. His entire body feels like lead, the simple act of breathing requiring effort he barely has. The nausea is a constant presence now, there from the moment he wakes, to the moment he goes to bed. Even conversation is exhausting.

Still, if Franziska was going to bully him into staying alive, he supposed he should appreciate the sentiment.

Somewhat.

"You can't tell him," Miles says after a moment, voice quiet but firm.

Franziska slams her fork down with a clatter that makes him flinch. "You are so infuriatingly foolish! Why must you always act like this is only your decision?!" she demands. "You would deny him the chance to fight for you?! You would deny yourself the chance to live?!"

Miles closes his eyes, feeling a fresh wave of guilt roll through him. "If I tell him and it doesn't work..." he whispers, "he'll blame himself. He'll hate himself. I can't—"

"He already blames himself, you fool," Franziska cuts in sharply. "And he'll blame himself a thousand times more if you die without giving him the chance to make it right."

Miles opens his mouth, then closes it again. There's nothing he can say to that, because deep down he knows she's right.

Franziska huffs and stabs a piece of meat with her fork, but when she speaks again, her voice is quieter, almost pleading.

"I don't want to lose you, Miles," she says. "And neither does he."

Miles presses a trembling hand to his forehead. His vision is blurring, not from sickness this time, but from the sting of unshed tears.

"You're cruel," he rasps.

"I'm practical," she corrects primly, though there’s a wetness to her voice that betrays her. "And if you don't do it by tomorrow..." She pauses meaningfully, picking up her knife again and twirling it between her fingers like a promise.

"I will."

Miles sinks further into the couch, heart pounding weakly in his chest.

Tomorrow.

It felt like a death sentence and a lifeline all at once.

-

Miles looks horrible. There is a sickly, greyish tint to his skin, his hair hangs limply around a face that looked like it had caved in on it self. Phoenix wants to turn around and run screaming out of his house. He doesn't. He takes a chair and drags it next to the bed and sits down.

It looks like he's sleeping.

Phoenix hesitates, then reaches out to take Miles' hand in his, running his thumb over the knuckles.

He swallows before opening his mouth to speak.

"When I found out you had a soulmate I was so—I don't even know. I was angry. You had a soulmate. I used to dream of meeting mine. When I was young I'd fantasized about all the different ways I would run into mine. How I'd just know that they were it. But then it never happened. And I grew disillusioned with the idea of love. At first I thought, maybe that's why I'm jealous. You got to have what I wanted for so long, and you probably didn't even appreciate it. But then the more I thought about it I realized that wasn't it. I was jealous because somewhere out there, is someone who is perfect for you. Someone who understands you perfectly. Someone who will complete you. And that's not me."

A single tear runs down his cheek but he doesn't wipe it away.

"I'm still angry. Not at you. But at the bastard who had you and decided to reject you. I don't care that it wasn’t intentional. They had you, then threw you away. They caused you so much pain. That is unforgivable."

Suddenly Miles' hand tightens around Phoenix's and he jumps at the sudden pressure.

"You're such an idiot," Miles whispers and Phoenix lets out a wet little chuckle.

"Maybe. But I don't care. Tell me who it is, Miles. Please, I'm asking you one last time to let me help you."

Miles looks at him, eyes unfocused.

"I forgive you," he whispers, making Phoenix frown.

"What—"

"You didn’t know...You didn't mean to..."

Phoenix nearly falls off his chair. The entire world seems to tilt on its axis and nausea roils through him. He's drenched in sweat in the blink of an eye.

"Are—are you saying—"

"I'm sorry," Miles whispers. "I didn't want you to feel any guilt..."

Phoenix leans over and buries his face in Miles' chest. The tears just keeps coming and a sob rips from his chest.

"You fucking bastard," he whispers. "You selfish asshole!"

He's talking to Miles, though part of those insults are also directed at himself.

He had Miles. He had him. And he just threw him away.

"When?" He cries. "When did I—"

"After...I came back."

Miles' breathing is heavy and he can barely get the words out.

"You said...it would've been better...if I stayed dead..."

Phoenix eyes widens.

"But I didn't mean that!" He sobs. "I was angry because you left me. I didn't mean—god, I would never actually think that!"

"That's when...it happened..."

Phoenix wipes snot on the sleeve of his suit. "I'm sorry," he whispers fervently. "I—I didn't mean it I take it back. Christ, I take all of it back, please. Please. I want to be your soulmate. I want you as my soulmate. Please."

He lays his head down on Miles' chest, listening to the weak and irregular beats of his heart.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, over and over. "I take it back. I take it back. I didn't mean it. I take it back...I love you."

-

Miles' eyes are closed, he can hear Phoenix crying, feel his tears seep through the fabric of his pyjama shirt. If he had the energy he would comfort him. He would tell him it wasn't his fault. He would hold Phoenix and tell him...

"I love you."

Something is shining, bright enough for the light to seep through Miles' eyelids. He slowly opens his eyes, and is nearly blinded by a glow, coming from his hand.

Miles can only gape as he watches his string, their string, come to life and lengthening, before the other end ties itself around Phoenix's ringfinger.

Phoenix still can't see it. But Miles can.

Their string has been mended, and is once again glowing.

"Phoenix," Miles whispers, voice hoarse. Phoenix, who hasn't once stopped rambling, ceases his blubbering momentarily to listen to Miles.

Miles holds up his hand.

"It's okay," he says, even though he knows Phoenix can't see it, he wiggles his fingers. "The string mended."

Phoenix's eyes widen. "Are you serious?"

Miles nods, and despite being exhausted, he can't stop smiling. Then, a genuine laughs bubbles up.

Phoenix stares at him like he's gone crazy, then, he too starts laughing. He pulls Miles into a hug and and Miles allows it with no protest.

He presses a chaste kiss to his cheek and had Miles been all there, he would've blushed.

"When you're better we are going to have a long talk about you keeping lifesaving information from me," Phoenix tells him sternly and Miles just nods.

He's gonna survive. He's gonna be okay. And more importantly—Phoenix loves him.

-

"Do you think they'll give me my job back if I grovel?"

Phoenix snorts as he unpacks the take out, stacking spring rolls on plates and moving ramen into actual bowls from their plastic containers.

"I'm sure if you explain it to them they'll understand."

Miles grabs one of the spring rolls and takes a bite. He moans as the flavors explode in his mouth. He is on day five of recovery and finally well enough to eat and keep food down again.

Phoenix shakes his head. "You're such an idiot."

Miles knows it's not smooth sailing from here. He knows Phoenix is gonna want to properly talk about everything before doing anything else. Because he is mad, that much is clear. He hasn't said it, or outright shown it, but Miles has known him for a long time. Plus, they're soulmates. He can tell these things.

He doesn't mind though. They might fight and argue and disagree, but just like before, they will always work it out. After all, they have all the time in the world.

"What color is it now?" Phoenix asks suddenly. He has been asking that question a lot over the past five days.

Miles looks at the string tying them together and smiles.

For the first time since the string had been severed, it is glowing red.