Archive of Our Own ^beta

The smell of sugar, popcorn and deep-fried dough permeates the air and Miles struggles between gagging and taking a big inhale through his nose. His father laughs at him, the sound loud and warm over the crowd of people. Children are running around, screaming and putting their sticky fingers everywhere. Miles can't tell of he loves it or hates it. The sounds, the smells, the colors. It's all so much, and so overwhelming.

He hadn't known what to think when for his seventh birthday his dad had gifted him tickets to the Berry Big Circus, as they were scheduled to stop by close to their home a few days after Miles' birthday.

Miles wasn't much for going out and socializing in big crowds—he preferred staying at home with his nose in a good book. His father seemed to worry about Miles' anti-social habits and often encouraged him to go out and make friends. Miles suspected this was another one of his attempts.

"Do you want something?" His father asks, gesturing to a stall selling cotton candy and salted peanuts. Miles hesitates before pointing at the peanuts. His father smiles at him and buys him a small bag. He hands it to Miles who takes it, clutching it to his chest as they make it inside the circus tent in search of their seats.

The view is good. It's far enough back that they can see the entire stage, and Miles is lucky when no one too tall sits in front of him. The lights over the audience dim and the spotlights turn to the stage, lighting it up. A portly man with a blond mustache and a top hat appears, speaking in a loud booming voice as he introduces the different acts.

For a moment Miles is so completely overwhelmed. There is so much going on—dancing, singing, animals, tricks and magic. He clutches the bag of peanuts so hard the bag crinkles and tears a bit. He wonders briefly if he can get away with sneaking outside.

"And now, give a big round of applause to the wonderful, Flying Phoenix!"

Miles' eyes widen and he leans forward in his seat as a young boy appears—probably Miles' age. He climbs a big ladder and steps on to a platform, probably 25 feet or so in the air. He grabs hold of a trapeze and swings himself off the platform. Miles watches with wide eyes as someone on the opposite end of the circus tent does the same—this one looking like an adult. The boy lets go of the bar and flies through the air. Miles' breath catches in his throat. For a split second, the boy seems suspended in midair, weightless, free—like gravity itself has forgotten him. Then, with perfect timing, the man on the other trapeze swings forward and catches the boy by his wrists. The crowd erupts into applause, the tent filling with the sound of clapping hands and gasps of amazement.
Miles can't move. His peanuts rest forgotten in his lap. His heart hammers in his chest, not from fear but something else—something that feels like awe.

The boy is tossed back toward the platform, flips once, twice, and lands neatly on the small wooden ledge. He waves, grinning ear to ear, the lights glinting off the sequins sewn into his costume.

Miles doesn't realize he’s leaning so far forward until his father places a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"Pretty amazing, huh?" his father says softly, his voice a mix of amusement and warmth.

Miles nods, unable to look away. "He's flying," he whispers.

His father chuckles. "With a lot of practice, I bet."

But Miles isn't listening anymore. The act continues—twists, somersaults, impossible catches—and all Miles can think about is the feeling he imagines the boy must have in that one moment between bars, when the air rushes past and everything else falls away.

As the act comes to a close Miles flies up from his chair, clapping so enthusiastically he doesn't even notice the bag of peanuts falling from his lap and on to the ground. He can feel his father's eyes on him, but he doesn't care.

That was the most amazing thing he had ever seen.

-

In true parent fashion, his dad stops and talks to a colleague on their way out of the tent. Miles taps his foot impatiently as the two men discuss taxes and politics. His eyes roam around the tent, now mostly empty. The scent of sugar in the air has taken on a nauseating quality and Miles feels wrung out from all the different impressions of the night. He just wants to go home.

A familiar kid with spiky, dark hair catches his attention then. He loiters in the entrance, eyes flitting about like he's searching for someone. Then he turns to leave.

Miles looks up at his father, still deep in conversation. He takes a few steps away from him, and when his father doesn't seem to notice, Miles sneaks away, following the boy.

He doesn't have to look for long. As soon as he exits the tent he sees him. Miles doesn't know what possesses him, but he walks right up to him.

"You were amazing!" He blurts out. The boy turns, looking surprised and caught off guard. Then, his face splits into a broad smile. He scratches the back of his head, looking abashed.

"Thank you!" He chirps, cheeks red.

Miles grins back, his nerves making it a little too wide for comfort.

"I've never seen anything like it before," he rambles, stumbling over his words. "You were flying! Weren't you scared?"

The boy laughs. "I'm always scared, but that's the fun part! Overcoming my fear. Plus, I trust my parents."

Miles' eyes widen. "Your parents?" He repeates. The boy nods enthusiastically.

"The man you saw me perform with? That's my dad. Sometimes we perform all three but my mom wasn't feeling well today, so it was just me and my dad." He sticks his hand out then. "I'm Phoenix."

Miles takes it. "Miles. Edgeworth. It's actually my first time at a circus. My father brought me for my birthday."

Phoenix lights up. "Well, happy birthday then! Had I known I would've done more flips just for you!"

Miles blushes, then his words seems to register and he stares at the young trapeze artist. "You know even more flips?"

Phoenix leans forward, a conspiratorial smile on his lips.

"I've been working on a quadruple somersault. My parents and the ringmaster don't think I've mastered it yet to the point where I can include it in a performance. But soon." He leans back with a smug little smile. "And when I unveil it to the world, I will be the only acrobat to ever exist that can pull off such a move."

Miles is in awe. Phoenix is so young, but he can tell already that he is going places. Miles has his dream of becoming an attorney like his dad, and that's a good dream. He holds that dream dear and will do everything in his power to make that happen. But Phoenix? Phoenix's dream is to become the best in the world at something, and that's such an ambition Miles can't even begin to grasp it. And the thing is Miles can see it. He can see an older, successful, famous Phoenix, taking the world by storm. And he had had the honor to witness him like this. Young and full of hope. Not there yet, but so close. A seed that would one day grow into a giant tree.

Phoenix smiles then. "Hey! I could show you. As a birthday present!" He grabs Miles' hand and pulls him back into the tent. "All the equipment is still up. They haven't taken it down yet! I know they won't mind. They're used to me training at odd hours."

Miles follows, cheeks and ears burning. His legs feel stiff, uncertain. The tent has emptied almost entirely now; the air hums faintly with the echo of laughter and applause long since faded. Workers move about in the background, their voices distant, as Phoenix leads him confidently toward the trapeze rig.
The platform looks even taller up close. The ladder stretches high into the shadows above the lights, the ropes swaying slightly as if breathing. Miles tilts his head back, heart pounding in his chest.

"You actually go up there?" he asks, his voice coming out smaller than he intends.

Phoenix glances back with an easy grin. "Of course. It's not so bad once you're up. You just—don't look down."

"That's easy for you to say," Miles mutters, clutching his elbows.

Phoenix laughs, then turns to the rigging and checks one of the ropes with practiced hands, pulling at the knots, testing the tension. There’s something about the way he moves—light, sure, as if gravity has already given up on him.

"You don't have to go up," Phoenix says after a moment, flashing a quick, reassuring smile. "But I can show you what it looks like from the platform, if you want to see the view. It's like—being on top of the world."

Miles hesitates. His father had told him before they got here that he wasn't to walk away from him. But one look at Phoenix and Miles can feel his heart settling. Like he knows nothing can go wrong as long as he is with him.

"Fine," Miles says, trying to sound braver than he feels. "But if I die, I'm haunting you."

Phoenix laughs again, bright and unbothered. "Deal."

He starts climbing the ladder, barefoot and quick, his small hands finding each rung with ease. Miles swallows hard and follows, the metal cool beneath his palms. Halfway up, he makes the mistake of glancing down—the ground already looks impossibly far away.

"Don't stop!" Phoenix calls from above. "You're doing great!"

Miles grits his teeth and keeps climbing, the muscles in his arms trembling. When he finally reaches the top, Phoenix is standing at the edge of the narrow platform, holding the trapeze bar, grinning like he was born for this.

"See?" Phoenix says softly. "It's not so scary once you're up."

Miles steps closer, gripping the rail. The tent stretches below them, the stage lights dim and golden, dust motes spinning lazily in the air. It really does feel like the top of the world.
Phoenix looks at him, something bright and determined flickering in his eyes. "One day," he says quietly, "when people hear my name, they'll know it means the best flyer there ever was. The Flying Phoenix—the kid who beat gravity.”

Miles just stares at him, the words sinking deep, as if they're being carved into his memory.

"I think you already are," he says.

Phoenix grins, a little embarrassed, but doesn't look away. "Maybe," he says. "But I'll prove it. You'll see."

But Miles doesn't need to wait and see anything. He already knows Phoenix will be a star.

"I'm gonna be a defense attorney," he says then. He hasn't shared this dream with anyone but his father. Phoenix looks surprised.

"Yeah?"

Miles nods. "Just like father."

Phoenix smiles at him then. "You look like someone who can achieve anything you set your mind to." Miles blushes. "To our dreams." Phoenix holds up his fist, and Miles lightly bumps it with his own.

"To our dreams," he repeats with a smile.

Phoenix turns away then. "Ready?"

Miles nods and watches with a potent sense of wonderment as Phoenix flings himself forward on the swing. At the upward momentum Phoenix lets go and makes four consecutive somersaults in the air, before grabbing the other bar of the trapeze swing in front of him. Miles heart goes to his throat at the sight, and Phoenix fumbles a little getting his hand on the bar, but he is okay. Miles lets go of the railing to clap his hands together, jumping a bit on the spot. Phoenix swings his way back and lands in front of Miles with a big grin on his face.

"Happy birthday!" He says brightly, and Miles laughs.

"That was the coolest birthday present ever!"

"MILES!"

Both boy startles as Miles' father's voice booms through the tent. Miles' face falls.

"I need to get back," he tells Phoenix. Phoenix's face turns sad, but he dutifully follows Miles down the ladder.

Gregory spots them and runs towards Miles.

"You can't just wander off like that!" He scolds. Miles hangs his head.

"It was my fault!" Phoenix pipes up then. "I wanted to show him a trick I've been working on."

Gregory looks surprised. "You're that young trapeze artist," he says, then smiles warmly. "You were amazing."

Phoenix blushes and looks down. "Thank you, sir." He looks to Miles then.

"We're a traveling circus, so we probably won't see each other again for a while. But keep an eye out from my name in the papers, and when we come back here you should come see us again!"

Miles looks at his father, who smiles at him.

"We absolutely will," Gregory promises and Miles can feel his stomach flutter in excitement at the thought of seeing Phoenix again.

Phoenix waves at them. "Bye Miles! And good luck becoming a defense attorney! I know you can do it!"

Miles waves back. "Bye, Phoenix."

Phoenix bounces away and Gregory takes Miles' hand to lead him out the tent.

In the car, Miles tells him, "thank you for bringing me. I had fun."

Gregory smiles at him. "I'm glad to hear."

"Father?"

"Yes, son?"

Miles leans back in his seat. "I think we witnessed something truly amazing today."

-

The months leading up to his first birthday without his father are hard, of course they are. Miles has lost the only family he had, and more than that his dreams are haunting him. Instilling images in his mind he can't distinguish from reality, to the point Miles is questioning himself in a way no ten year old should. The guilt is eating him alive, yet he can't talk about it. He has no one to turn to.

The von Karmas are nice enough. Manfred is pretty strict, but it is in a way Miles can appreciate, because he knows it will lead him to his goal. Make his dream come true. He had to abandon his other dream, of being a defense attorney. After witnessing the circus that was Yanni Yogi's trial he could no longer in good conscience strive to become a defense attorney. So Manfred had taken him under his wings and given him a new dream. Miles was going to become a prosecuter.

The dream feels right, nobel even. Prosecuters seek truth, justice. They make sure the guilty are punished. Miles was going to be the best Prosecuter, to make sure no more lying scum would ever walk free.

-

"Happy birthday, little brother," Franziska tells him that morning. The breakfast table looks fancier than normal—a buffet of options rather than just the normal toast and coffee that's served.

Miles loads his plate up with some pancakes and bacon and pours himself some tea.

"Thank you," he mumbles, taking a bite out of his breakfast. Manfred reaches over the table and gives him an envelope. Miles takes it, confused.

"A birthday present," he says, a soft look in his eyes. "Open it."

Miles tears the envelope open to reveal three tickets.

To the Berry Big Circus.

"I thought it might be fun for you, to go. Have you ever been to a circus before?"

Miles can feel his eyes sting at the memory. His father's smile, his voice, his hand on Miles' shoulder.

And Phoenix. Has it really been three years since he saw the other boy?

Miles had listened and kept an eye out for Phoenix's name in the papers. A year ago he had unveiled his quadruple somersault to the world and was immediately dubbed a prodigy among acrobats. Not just the youngest, but the only acrobat in the world able to pull off that move. And Miles had been one of the very first to see it.

He's proud of Phoenix, but part of him wonders if Phoenix would be proud of him. After all, he abandoned his dream. Would Phoenix be disappointed when he found out?

Miles' fists clench, wrinkling the tickets.

"Miles?"

Miles' head snaps up to look at Franziska. She looks worried. He turns to see Manfred watching him with an odd glint in his eyes.

"My dad took me on my seventh birthday," he tells them quietly. "The trapeze act is amazing."

Franziska's face softens and she takes the tickets from him.

"Then this should be good for you. You need to have some fun, little brother."

Miles hums before turning back to Manfred and giving him a slight bow with his head.

"Thank you. The present is much appreciated."

Manfred sips his coffee before setting his mug down with a clink.

"Franziska is right," he says slowly. "Isolating yourself the way you have these past few months isn't healthy. You need to go out and meet people. Try to have fun tonight, okay?"

Miles nods. "Thank you. I will."

Manfred smiles. "Good."

-

The smell is so familiar and nostalgic that the moment Miles steps foot on the premise he his seven years old again. Seven years old and holding his father's hand. Seven years old and witnessing Phoenix perform for the first time. Seven years old and climbing a 25 foot ladder to watch Phoenix do a quadruple somersault.

It's peanuts and popcorn and sugar and fried dough—all wrapped into one big assault on his poor nose.

It feels like coming home.

"Do you want anything?" Manfred asks. Miles shakes his head, but Franziska and Manfred decide to share a bucket of popcorn. They make it into the tent and take their seats. It's packed inside, and Miles breathes out a sigh of relief when the people in front of him are a gaggle of children—none too tall to block his view.

As the lights dims over the audience Miles scoots to the edge of his seat, gripping the arm rests tightly. It's just as he remembers it—dancing, singing, animals, tricks and magicians. Finally, Phoenix takes the stage. He is taller since Miles last saw him—shoulders a little broader. He smiles and waves at the audience before climbing the ladder. Miles watches him, heart hammering in his chest. Two other trapeze artists make it on to the other platform facing Phoenix. Those must be his parents, Miles thinks.

Phoenix makes it onto the platform and grabs the trapeze. He adjusts his hold a few times before jumping off the platform. At the apex of the swing he lets go—making two consecutive somersaults in the air before grabbing the hands of the other trapeze artist—who is holding on to the trapeze by her legs.

The crowd cheers and applauds, Miles joining in. It's as amazing as he remembers. Phoenix is weightless, flying through the air with grace and poise—like he never belonged on the ground in the first place. Like a bird. Like a phoenix.

And when he does his quadruple somersault the tent explodes. Miles flies out of his seat and claps so hard his palms sting. He can feel Manfred and Franziska's eyes on him, both startled at his sudden burst of enthusiasm.

Manfred's brow lifts slightly, but he says nothing—just exchanges a small, knowing glance with Franziska, who looks more confused than anything else. Miles doesn't notice. His eyes are locked on Phoenix, who lands cleanly in the catcher's hands, the lights glinting off his sequined costume as he's swung back to the platform. The music swells, the applause rises to a roar, and for a moment, Miles feels like his heart might burst.
He doesn't remember the last time he felt this kind of pure, unfiltered awe. It fills him to the brim and leaves him dizzy. His cheeks ache from smiling.

When the act ends, Phoenix stands at the center of the net with his parents, bowing deeply. His grin is brilliant—the same grin Miles remembers from three years ago, standing on that platform after having witnessed Phoenix's unpolished quadruple somersault.

Miles claps until his hands hurt. He can barely hear Franziska's muttered, "honestly, what's so impressive about jumping around?" over the noise of the crowd. He almost laughs.

As the applause dies down and the next act prepares to take the stage, Miles sinks back into his seat, pulse still racing. He can't tear his eyes away from where Phoenix had been. The image burns behind his eyelids—Phoenix mid-flight, arms outstretched, the lights catching on his costume like falling stars.

He feels seven again. Seven, small, spellbound, and full of impossible dreams.

Manfred clears his throat. "You seem—taken with the performance, Miles."

Miles startles, straightening in his seat. "Ah, yes, sir. It was—well-executed."

Manfred hums, the faintest ghost of a smirk touching his lips. "Indeed. Though I prefer something more grounded." He turns his gaze back to the ring, already dismissing it all as frivolity.

Miles tries to mimic his composure, sitting straighter, folding his hands neatly in his lap. But his heart refuses to slow. His eyes keep drifting toward the performers' tent, where Phoenix disappeared moments ago.

He tells himself it's simple curiosity.

Nostalgia. Nothing more.

But when the final act ends and the lights rise again, Miles' palms are still tingling, and there's a strange, warm ache in his chest—a yearning he doesn't quite have a name for.

-

As the crowd thins out Miles stays. He eyes the throng of people, gaze flitting from face to face until he sees a familiar sequenced outfit. He wets his lips and puts a hand on Franziska's thin shoulder.

"Wait here," he tells her, without even looking at her. He hears her protests but ignores them as he glides through the crowd to get to Phoenix. He stops in front of him. Before he can get a word out Phoenix has spotted him and his face breaks into a big, bright smile. He runs over and throws his arms around Miles.

"Miles Edgeworth!" He crows, hugging him tight. Miles—helpless in the face of Phoenix's unbridled joy—hugs back. It's with a start he realizes he hasn't hugged anyone since his father. The von Karmas aren't big on physical affection, and it's not like Miles had anyone else. He closes his eyes and buries his face in Phoenix's neck, taking a deep inhale. He smells of sweat, hay and the wind.

They separate, but only partly. Phoenix's arms are still around him as he stares into that familiar, yet unknown face.

He's still smiling, so bright it's blinding. "I missed you!"

Miles swallows. "We wanted to come. But then father got really busy with work, and then—" he falls silent.

Phoenix's face slowly dims, turning remorseful. "I'm so sorry about your dad, Miles," he whispers into the space between them, pressing their foreheads together. Miles takes a stuttering inhale.

"You know?"

"It was all over the news, everywhere. Gregory Edgeworth, defense attorney. Shot and killed in an elevator. That was your dad, wasn't it?"

Miles swallows, feeling his eyes sting. "Yeah, that's—that was my father."

Phoenix pulls him in for another hug.

"I'm so sorry, Miles," he says into the side of his neck, and for the first time since his father's funeral, Miles allows a few, stray tears to fall.

Phoenix's hold only tightens, and he presses his face into Miles' hair. Miles melts into the hug, grabbing and holding on for dear life—like Phoenix is the only thing keeping him from completely unraveling. Lately he feels held together by tape and prayers, but with Phoenix's strong arms around him he feels whole. Like maybe he can actually get through this.

"When I heard about it I wanted to contact you," Phoenix admits into his shoulder. "I wanted to be there for you."

Miles swallows. "Why? You don't even know me?"

Phoenix leans back to look at him, a disgruntled little frown marring his face.

"We're friends!" He says, so forcefully Miles startles. "We shared our dreams with each other! I showed my quadruple somersault which only a handful of people had seen back then. We're friends!" He repeates, shaking Miles a bit.

Miles swallows around the lump in his throat. "Oh. Okay. Friends." He gives Phoenix a trembling smile, which Phoenix responds to with one of his own, brighter ones. He then grabs a hold of Miles wrist and folds the sleeve of his shirt up.

"What are you doing?" Miles asks with a frown. Phoenix produces a marker from thin air and starts writing on his skin.

"This," he says slowly. "Is my phone number. That way, I don't have to wait another three years to talk to you." Phoenix lets go of his arm and Miles stares down at the numbers—dumbstruck.

"You have your own phone?" Is all he gets out.

Phoenix sticks his tongue out playfully. "Technically it's the whole family's, but I get to use it as long as I don't make prank calls—which, I would never!" Phoenix looks scandalized at the mere suggestion, and an involuntary laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep within Miles. Phoenix beams at the sound.

"Call me whenever," he says then. "And if my parents pick up, just ask for me!"

Miles runs a careful finger down his arm, over the numbers. "I will," he promises. It feels precious, and though Miles knows it's temporary and will wash away, he can't help but feel warm at the sight of Phoenix's handwriting on his skin. He wonders if this is how it feels getting a tattoo you know you won't regret.

"MILES!"

Miles jumps and turns to see Franziska and Manfred a few feet away, looking at him with a frown. Miles turns back to Phoenix.

"I have to go," he whispers, heart breaking clean in two at the thought of leaving Phoenix again. "But you were amazing. You've basically fulfilled your dream!"

Phoenix smiles, though it looks a little sad. "Not yet. I'm a great flyer, but not the best. Not close." Miles shakes his head.

"You are to me."

Phoenix blushes and averts his eyes.

"I'll call you," he promises, taking a step back, away from Phoenix, towards the von Karmas.

"Just tell me one thing!" Phoenix hurriedly says, and Miles stops. "How is it going with your dream—of becoming a defense attorney?"

Something inside Miles shatters.

"It's not my dream anymore," he whispers, staring down at his feet. "I'm gonna become a prosecuter, like von Karma."

When he finally dares to look at Phoenix the boy's got a thoughtful look on his face.

"Are you sure?"

Miles nods. "I'm sure."

"Then I wish you luck."

"MILES!"

Phoenix gives him one last hug before Miles scuttles away to join the others.

"You didn't tell us you knew the circus act!" Franziska accuses.

Miles blushes and looks away. "Yeah," he says softly. "We're friends."

-

Calling Phoenix is easier said than done. If he's not busy performing, he is busy training. But after several failed attempts Phoenix finally answers.

"Hello?"

Miles' back goes ramrod straight where he is sitting on the bed.

"Miles. Hi. Me." He stutters, and mentally facepalms as his greeting comes out a fumbled mess. But Phoenix only laughs—sounding absolutely delighted.

"Miles! You called!"

Miles flushes. "I've called a few times, actually," he mumbles, picking some lint off the covers. "But you were busy."

Phoenix groans into the phone. "I'm sorry! I'm working on this new trick—it's absolutely killing me! I just can't seem to get it!"

Phoenix rambles on about his training and the new trick he's working on, and Miles happily listens as he leans back against the pillows.

"—stupid! Ugh! But enough about me—how are you?"

Miles startles, not expecting the question.

"I'm—fine," he says after a beat.

Phoenix hums. "Fine, huh? You don't sound like it."

Miles wets his lips, but says nothing. How does he even begin to explain the war waging inside of him? The sadness, the guilt, the loss, the anger. How does he explain to Phoenix that his own nightmares have him convinced he's actually the one who shot his father?

"You know, when I saw you I noticed immediately something was different. I know you lost your dad, but it's more than that. You don't seem yourself, Miles."

Miles can feel his hackles rise. "And you'd know so much about that, would you?" He snaps. "Because you know me so well!"

Phoenix is silent on the other end, and Miles immediately regrets his outburst.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, breath hitching. "I didn't mean that." He takes a deep breath. "I have this—recurring dream."

And so he tells Phoenix. About that day, about the dream, about the trial, about his doubts and fears. Phoenix listens quietly, only humming every now and then. When Miles is done Phoenix takes a moment before saying anything.

"You didn’t kill your dad," is the first thing out of his mouth. Miles can feel his eyes sting.

"How can you know?" He whispers, clutching the phone. "You weren't there. You didn’t see—" a sob rips from him then, and he doubles over, pressing a hand over his mouth to quiet himself.

"Miles," Phoenix says, voice like a soft, comforting blanket surrounding him. "Listen to me. You didn’t kill your dad. I know you didn't. That dream is just that—a dream. A nightmare. But you didn't kill him. And I will do anything I can to make you believe that."

Miles hiccups. "I don't think there's anything you can do," he whispers, wiping away a few tears.

"That won't stop me from trying!" Phoenix says, determination seeping into his voice. "You're my friend, Miles. And right now you're fighting some serious darkness. But you're not alone. I'm right beside you—fighting with you. I won't let the darkness win. I'll be your knight in shining armour!"

Miles lets out a snort, a small smile spreading over his lips.

"I don't need saving," he says, voice serious despite the smile.

"Everyone needs a little saving sometimes. That's why trapeze artist perform over a net!"

Miles coughs to cover up another laugh. "Are you going to be my net?"

Miles can practically hear Phoenix beaming on the other end.

"I'm gonna be your net!"

-

Phoenix and Miles keep steady contact over the next three years. Miles is too busy to go see the Berry Big Circus when they come to town, but Phoenix is understanding and seems happy to continue their friendship over the phone.

Miles is still plagued by nightmares, though Phoenix keeps telling him he will "prove him wrong". Miles doesn't know what his plan is, but he gets Phoenix to promise he won't get himself into trouble.

As the years squeak by Phoenix only grows in terms of fame and popularity. He has an entire repertoire of moves only he can do, and he performs them all flawlessly. Miles spends every second of his freetime looking up clips on the internet. He has an entire wall in his room now, dedicated to posters and newspaper clippings of Phoenix. He is taking the world by storm.

When he isn't talking to Phoenix, or thinking of Phoenix, or scouring the internet for information about Phoenix, he is studying and working hard at becoming a prosecuter. Manfred is a hard teacher, but Miles has come to value that. He knows that with him as his guide, Miles can truly become the best.

And he will. He will never let another Yanni Yogi walk free.

-

It's front page news—splattered across every cover of every magazine and newspaper.

TRAGEDY BEFALLS THE BERRY BIG CIRCUS

Miles rips the newspaper open with trembling fingers, nausea roiling in his stomach. He can feel his eyes sting and his sight blur as he reads.

Phoenix.

Phoenix.

He jumps out of his seat and rushes out the door, unsure if the circus will still be in town after last night's tragedy. He runs all the way down to the pier. As he gets closer there is a sea of paparazzis swarming the tent. Miles weaves his way through the small crowd, only to find the entrance blocked off.

"Sorry sir," a police officer tells him. "No one comes in or out of this tent today."

"But I need to get in!" Miles tries desperately, but the officer only shakes his head. Miles swears and turns back.

When he gets home he tries to call Phoenix, but of course, there is no answer.

He sighs and throws himself on the bed. He takes his pillow and covers his face with it, for a second contemplating just screaming into the fluffy object.

A knock on the door shelfs that idea, and he looks up as the door opens and Franziska wanders in, sitting down on the bed.

"I read the news," she tells him gravely. "That was your friend, right?"

Miles nods, struggling to find the words. Franziska fidgets with her hands.

"How—how is he?"

Miles sighs. "I don't know. The entire premise is closed off and he's not answering his phone."

Franziska sighs and shakes her head. "How horrible. Having to watch your own parents—" she cuts herself off, eyes going wide as she looks at Miles. "Sorry," she whispers. "I didn't—sorry."

Miles stares up at the ceiling. "You're right," he tells her quietly. "It is horrible. And it was both of them. Both of them just—fell to their death."

"The article said that the net that was supposed to catch them malfunctioned. You don't—" she hesitates. "You don't think it was foul play, do you?"

Miles' fists clench. It would be a lie to say he hadn't considered it, but God, he hopes it wasn't. Because that would mean someone had killed them. And that could mean that Phoenix is next. Or maybe Phoenix had been the intended target, and Phoenix's parents were just collateral.

Either way, as horrible as the entire incident is, Miles is just grateful Phoenix didn't get hurt. But oh, how he wishes he could see him.

-

The next day the Berry Big Circus packs up and leaves. Miles never got to see Phoenix, and he still isn't answering his phone. The newspapers reports that there seemed to be no foul play involved—the entire thing was just one huge, tragic accident. Miles feels relieved, if only to know that Phoenix might be safe—at least from a killer. But if the equipment could malfunction like that, who's to say it won't again, and that the next time Phoenix will be the one to fall to his death.

Miles feels ill at the mere thought. He grabs the phone and tries calling again. One last time before he gives up.

"The number you have dialed is out of service."

The phone falls to the floor with a clatter as Miles stares sightlessly in front of him.

The last time Miles got his heart broken was when his father died. But this feels different. It's a slow and agonizing break, tearing up his heart in little pieces and damaging it beyond repair. His breath hitches as tears begin leaking from his eyes.

"Oh, Phoenix," he whispers. "Why?"

-

Over the years the pictures and articles of Phoenix disappears from Miles' wall. He no longer keeps himself updated on his career and he no longer waits, hopes, longs for Phoenix to call him back.

He immerses himself completely in his studies, and soon moves to Germany to complete his studies.

When he comes back he's a full-fledge prosecuter, and in only a few years he has earned a new nickname.

The Demon Prosecuter.

-

The news—when they finally reach him—leaves him a jumbled mess of emotions.

THE FLYING PHOENIX ON TRIAL FOR MURDER

Miles blinks.

And blinks.

His eyes are glued on the picture. It's a flattering one, with Phoenix—all grown up—smiling at a sea of admirers and waving. Miles hasn't seen that face in years, and he can't prevent the funny little flutter his heart does at the sight. Phoenix looks good, changed, yet the same. His body has filled out tremendously—leaving him with a lean, yet muscular figure. His face is all grown, but that smile—those eyes, they're the same.

Miles swallows hard, focusing on the article.

Berry Big Circus's ringmaster has been killed, and apparently, all the evidence point to Phoenix. Later, Miles finds out that Manfred is prosecuting, and he stops by his office before going home that day.

"Let me take this case."

Manfred leans back in his chair, eyes sharp.

"He used to be your friend, no? That would be a conflict of interest."

Miles shakes his head vehemently. "We're not friends anymore. I promise, it's not a conflict of interest. I will find the truth and put him away."

Manfred looks at him, swinging side-to-side in his chair. Finally, he sighs.

"This is a really important case. Make sure you win."

Miles nods, grateful. "I won't disappoint you."

-

The Berry Big Circus is set up by the pier, like always, but unlike all the other times he had been there, this time it doesn't smell like a carnival. There is no smell of popcorn, sugar, peanuts or fried dough. It's quiet too, eerily so. There are no sounds of cheers or applauds, just the ghost of them lingering in the air like a far off echo.

Miles meets up with Gumshoe at the scene of the crime, and they get to investigating. As Gumshoe gathers evidence Miles walks off to interview the rest of the circus.

He meets a cast of colorful, and different people, but they all have one thing in common.

"The flying Phoenix fabulously did not do this," Maximillion Galactica says.

"Feenie is like an older brother to me. He would never kill my dad," Regina Berry says.

"Ah, that kid. A real troublemaker, I tell you. But one thing he's not—a killer," the clown Moe says.

"The ringmaster adopted him after he lost his parents. I know Phoenix was nothing but grateful for that."

"He loved the old man. We all did," Acro and Bat says.

Every single person seems convinced Phoenix couldn't have done this, and Miles grits his teeth. That's fine. Phoenix isn't the first criminal to fool the people in his life. But he would drag the truth into the light, by any means necessary.

"Hey, pal! You can't be here!"

Miles looks up to see Gumshoe shouting at someone. As he approaches he sees none other than Mia Fey, followed closely by two children.

Miles scoffs. "You're the defense?" He says with a note of incredulity.

Mia glares at him and crosses her arms over her chest.

"I am. Problem?" Miles smirks.

"None what so ever."

Behind him a young girl with strange robes puffs out her cheeks.

"You're really gonna let him talk to you like that?" She demands furiously. Mia smiles at her.

"Don't worry, Maya. He's simply not worth it."

Miles tamps down the annoyance and plasters on a lazy, self-assured smile.

"I'll see you in court, Miss Fey."

"You too, Mister Edgeworth."

-

Seeing Phoenix after all these years feels like being struck by lightning. Something in his heart squeezes painfully upon seeing that familiar face, and Miles has to stop and take a breath before beginning the trial.

Phoenix is staring at him with wide, sad eyes. Like he can't believe Miles is doing this. Miles grits his teeth, tamping down the anger rising inside of him. Phoenix had no right. Not after he cut off all contact. Not after he was the one who ended their friendship.

Manfred is at his side, overseeing Miles' work and progress during the trial.

"Let's go back a few years," Miles says, pointing at the defense. "To the first, big tragedy of the Berry Big Circus. When Philip and Mari Wright fell to their deaths. It was ruled an accident, no? An equipment malfunction. Or perhaps, a case of gross negligence on the ringmaster's part. Mr Wright blamed him for his parents death, so he waited for the right opportunity to take his revenge!"

The crowd hums and aah's and Mia is glaring at him fiercely over the defense's bench. Phoenix looks like he's been punched, bottom lip wobbling. Suddenly, he stands.

"OBJECTION!"

Mia hits him over the head. "We talked about this!" She hisses. "You can't just yell objection, that's my job!"

Miles is so startled he nearly laughs. What the hell?

Phoenix rubs the back of his head and looks up at the judge.

"Mister Judge, please let me take the stand!" He demands. The judge looks to Mia, who nods.

Phoenix takes the stand.

"I never blamed the ringmaster for my parents death. Not just because I know he had nothing to do with it, but because I know who did!"

A gasp goes through the crowd, and Miles stiffens. Phoenix's parents death had been an accident. So why was he implying—

"You see, the day after it happened I tried calling my friend," his eyes are on Miles, burning with such an intensity Miles has to look away. "But someone else answered. This person told me I had to cut all contact with my friend, unless I wanted him to end up like my parents!"

Miles' heart stops cold. The world seems to tilt on its axis, the courtroom spinning away until all that's left is the sound of Phoenix's voice echoing in his skull.

"What are you talking about?" he manages, but his voice sounds far away—like it's coming from underwater. He can feel Manfred's gaze boring into the side of his face, sharp and expectant.

Phoenix's expression doesn't waver. His hands are gripping the edge of the witness stand so tightly his knuckles are white.

"You heard me, Miles. Someone threatened you. Said if I ever talked to you again, they'd make you pay for it. I was fourteen. I didn't know what to do."

Murmurs ripple through the gallery. The judge pounds his gavel. "Order! Order in the court!"

Manfred von Karma's voice cuts through the chaos, smooth and venomous. "Your Honor, this child's testimony is irrelevant hearsay. We have no evidence that any such threat was made. He is simply attempting to deflect blame for the ringmaster's tragic demise."

Phoenix slams his fist against the stand. "You would say that, wouldn't you?"

The courtroom goes still. For a moment, Phoenix looks nothing like the wide-eyed boy Miles once knew—he looks furious, determined, sure.

"I know who threatened me. It was you, Manfred von Karma."

A collective gasp. Miles' stomach drops out from under him.

von Karma's lip curls, an almost imperceptible twitch. "Preposterous."

But Miles isn't sure. He can feel the blood draining from his face. He remembers—faintly—the strange silence that followed Phoenix's disappearance from his life. The way Manfred's hand had rested a bit too heavy on his shoulder the next day.

Phoenix's voice trembles, but it never breaks.

"It could have only been you. Miles shared a home with you and a young girl. She wasn't the one who answered the phone. It was you!"

Miles' throat tightens. His hands are shaking on the podium. "Wright, stop—"

"No!" Phoenix snaps, tears brimming in his eyes. "You deserve to know the truth. You didn't lose me because I left you, Miles. You lost me because he took me away from you!"

The words hit like a verdict.

For a moment, nobody speaks. Then von Karma chuckles—low, sharp, dangerous. “And why would I do that?"

Phoenix looks furious. "You know why! You threatened to hurt Miles for the same reason you killed my parents—to stop me from looking into DL-6!"

The floor beneath Miles gives way and he stumbles, holding himself up by grabbing on to the desk in front of him. Beside him von Karma has stilled, looking at Phoenix with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"That's a cute story," he says. "But where's the proof?"

"Oh, don't worry. We have proof," Mia pipes up then, holding a stack of documents. "But to admit them we need to reopen the DL-6 case."

"Granted," the judge says, banging his gavel.

And so the DL-6 case is reopened.

-

In the end, the truth comes out, Phoenix is acquitted and von Karma arrested. Miles feels dizzy with the events that have occurred in the past two days.

It turns out when Phoenix had said he would convince Miles, he had meant solve the case of his father's murder. He had gotten his parents to hire a PI to look into it, but after getting too close, and alerting Manfred von Karma of the investigation, von Karma had threatened the PI to make him quit. He then went after the Wrights. He had originally meant for all of them to fall to their deaths, but somehow Phoenix was the only one who didn't fall. He then threatened Phoenix to make him break off contact with Miles and leave DL-6 alone.

"Had it just been my life I wouldn't have cared. But he threatened you. And you were in his house! I couldn't risk it!"

Then, when Phoenix had heard that Miles was no longer living with von Karma had he once again taken up the crusade, this time confiding in the ringmaster. The ringmaster—upon hearing von Karma was to blame for the Wrights deaths—had tried taking action against him, and was subsequently killed for it. Manfred pinned the murder on Phoenix to get rid of him for good.

Now Miles sits in the empty courtroom, alone. The sound of the gavel and the reporters gone now, leaving the room eerily quiet. His head is spinning with all this information. His father's case is finally solved. The truth is out—raw and ugly in a way that makes it impossible to look away from. Miles could finally let his nightmare go and be just that—a nightmare. Yet Miles feels strangely empty.

"Mr Edgeworth?"

Miles turns and sees none other than Mia Fey. A long time rival, once a menance, now something else. Miles doesn't dare to call them friends, but after this trial something between them has definitely shifted.

She sits down next to him.

"We've been connected for a long time, you and I," she says softly. "I lost my mother in the same case you lost your father."

Miles stares ahead, unsure of what to say. He stares at the defense's bench—the one where Phoenix had stood, trembling but defiant, only a few hours ago. The polished wood glints faintly under the courtroom lights. It's hard to believe it's over. That any of this is over.

"I suppose we have," he says finally, voice low. "Two lives ruined by one man's obsession."

Mia nods, resting her elbows on her knees. "You fought for him anyway."

Miles lets out a humorless laugh. "Did I? It felt more like I was fighting him. Even after learning the truth, I don't know if I was defending justice or just trying to prove something to myself."

Mia studies him for a moment, quiet. "Justice isn’t clean, Mr. Edgeworth. It never has been. But today, you chose to face the truth, even when it meant facing him. That's more than most people can say."

He closes his eyes. "I used to think that if I just became like him, I'd be safe. Untouchable. But it turns out all I became was—empty.”

Mia leans back, folding her arms. "And now?"

He exhales slowly. "Now I don’t know who I am without him."

There's a long pause before Mia speaks again, her tone gentle. "Then maybe that's what comes next. Finding out."

Her words settle between them, soft but heavy.

After a moment, Miles glances sideways at her. "And what about you, Miss Fey? You've gotten your answers too, haven't you?"

She smiles faintly—tired, but sincere. "Some. But answers don't heal everything. Sometimes they just open old wounds you didn't realize were still there." She rises from the bench and smooths her skirt. "Still, it's better than living in the dark."

Miles follows her with his eyes, uncertain what to say. As she reaches the entrance Miles catches sight of Phoenix, loitering in the doorway. Mia puts a hand on his shoulder and sighs.

"Really?" Miles hears her say. "Him?" Phoenix laughs, shoulders shaking.

"He's a good one," he says with a small smile and Miles can barely see the grimace she pulls.

"Whatever you say." She pats his shoulder and leaves, and Phoenix joins him on the bench.

They sit in silence for a long moment. Miles fidgeting with his hands. Finally, Phoenix speaks.

"Losing you was one of the most painful things I ever had to go through. Then, watching you lose yourself to von Karma over the years, becoming the Demon Prosecuter when I know you. I've seen your kind heart and your pure intentions. It felt like I was slowly watching him corrupt you, and I couldn't stop it. It was awful."

Miles bites his bottom lip.

"I thought—I don't know what I thought. All I know is that losing you was so painful. I didn't know what I had done wrong. You were the one who said we were friends, and then you just—disappeared.

Phoenix takes his hand then. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "If there had been another way—"

Miles shakes his head. "I don't blame you. I don't know if I'd do any different choices were I in your shoes."

Phoenix puts an arm around him then, hugging him close. "It's really good to see you again, Miles."

-

They're in a café, having decided to meet on neutral ground.

Miles doesn't know what to say. There is so much, yet no words could ever be enough to cover this entire ordeal. Across from him Franziska fiddles with her whip.

"He's my papa," she says then, voice hard like steel. "But that doesn’t mean I agree or support him. I will always love him, but I will never trust him again." She looks at Miles then. "You're my little brother. That will always take priority."

Miles' gaze softens and he puts a hand over hers.

"Yeah," he tells her. "You too."

She smiles at him.

-

It's all over the papers. The Flying Phoenix's last performance. Miles buys two tickets for him and Franziska, and they go to see Phoenix perform one last time.

The smell is the same as always, and Miles and Franziska share a bag of peanuts.

It doesn't feel as overwhelming this time, but when Phoenix takes the spotlight the awe and admiration is there, like it was when he was seven, when he was ten, when he was 24 and watching Phoenix in the courtroom.

He is amazing as always, flying through the air—spins, somersaults, flips. He looks at home in the sky. Like he was always meant for flying. Acro and Bat are good too—not nearly on Phoenix's level, but they keep up, which in and of itself is high praise.

And when Phoenix does his quadruple somersault the tent explodes in cheers, applause and delighted laughter.

After the show Miles says goodbye to Franziska to seek out Phoenix. The tent is near empty when he finally finds him. Phoenix smiles at him.

"Enjoyed the last show?"

Miles reaches out and takes Phoenix's hand in his.

"You were amazing. You are amazing," he tells him, and Phoenix blushes.

"Thanks," he whispers, pulling Miles into a hug.

"Why are you quitting?" Miles asks into his ear. "I thought you loved this."

Phoenix leans back and looks at him. "I do," he says with a little nod. "I do love it. But aside from it becoming a strain on my body—it just doesn't feel right anymore. My parents are gone, the ringmaster is gone. Everything will change now. I love all the people here but I think this is it. I'm ready to move on. I got my dream. I was the best. Everyone saw me and knew I was the boy who defied gravity. That's all I ever wanted. I can walk away, happy and knowing I've done all I set out to do."

Miles leans forward and kisses him then. Phoenix makes a surprised little noise, eyes going wide. He smiles when Miles leans back, ending the kiss.

"What was that for?"

Miles shakes his head. "I'm just proud of you." Phoenix laughs and Miles tightens his arms around him. "So what are you going to do now?"

Phoenix gives him a brilliant smile. "I think I'm gonna become a defense attorney."