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aidankalenko · 2 months ago

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dropping off my latest narumitsu here, please enjoy

title: Occurring Continuously (ao3 link)

word count: 3469

summary: Set vaguely after 5-5. Wright thinks Apollo has a crush on him and goes to Edgeworth to ask for his opinion.

notes: A getting together fic that got away from me a bit. Post time-skip Nick is too fun to write.

“I think Apollo has a crush on me.”

“I can't say I’m surprised,” Edgeworth replies without looking up from his tea.

Over the years of their friendship, tumultuous as it has been, Wright has come to find the scent of Edgeworth’s imported teas a tangible anchor for Edgeworth's heavily abstract presence. A sweet aroma of ceylon meanders through the air, a reflection of Edgeworth's indifferent demeanour.

Just the usual. At least it smells nice.

Wright shifts in his seat. The buckle of his waistcoat presses into the small of his back, wedged against the plush chair situated across from Edgeworth.

“Right,” Wright deadpans. “I forgot you lost the ability to experience surprise in your old age.”

That earns him a snort, an auditory hint of a smile.

“After spending my years with you, Wright, I had no choice. Otherwise, I couldn't have coped with your special company.”

“We're getting away from the point,” Wright complains.

“Now that's your specialty.”

“Edgeworth,” Wright whines.

Edgeworth finally looks up. His glasses reflect sunlight and obscure his dark eyes for a second.

“Like I said, I’m hardly surprised,” Edgeworth replies. “You were a role model. Then, you were a mentor. Now, you're his boss and you've got a new suit to boot.”

Wright looks down at his outfit. He smooths down the waistcoat, adjusts the chain of his locket. “The suit can't be that impressive,” he mumbles.

“Agreed,” Edgeworth says with no edge at all. It still earns him an eye-roll from Wright. “But it's a number of levels up from sweatpants and sandals. Plus, your face is completely different without the hat.”

Wright smooths a hand over his scalp. “You really think so?” he asks.

Edgeworth takes a sip of his tea and doesn't bother to hide his unimpressed expression behind his cup. “Wright,” he says, “if you came here looking for compliments, I’m afraid I’ve already hit my daily quota.”

“Is that restricted to comments on my physical features or do I get a different number for my shining personality as well?”

“Wright,” Edgeworth grunts. Wright allows himself a brief laugh.

“Okay, so I look different,” Wright acquiesces, “but, like, I always thought he saw me as a father figure.”

“And?”

Wright manages a slight blush. “Okay, that's kinkier than I was expecting from either of you,” he admits.

Edgeworth shrugs. “I don't know the boy,” he says. “I’m just saying that it might not be as much of a deterrent as you might expect.”

After some more tea, Edgeworth leans an elbow on his desk. “What gave you the inclination to believe he might be infatuated?” he asks.

“Infatuated seems kind of like a strong word.”

“Wright, stay on task.”

“Sorry,” Wright mutters reflexively. He scratches the back of his neck. “Well, I don't know. I’ve caught him staring a couple of times, but I blamed that on the new look. But he also, you know—touches me more. Dusting my jacket kind of thing. Laughs at my jokes.”

“Including that mop you call hair?”

“Firstly, what kind of mop is as stiff and clean as this? And secondly, that was kind of a low blow.”

“I had a feeling your vanity could use some taming if you're receiving such attention from your young protege.”

Wright tugs at his collar. “He is young,” he comments. “Eleven years younger than me, in fact.”

Edgeworth hums. “Ah,” he says. “You're afraid you're a bad influence.”

Wright averts his eyes. “I can't say I’ve been the best,” he says. “I’m trying, but you know. This has all been done on the fly.”

“You're an expert on that by now,” Edgeworth tells him. His sincerity softens the corners of his lips and eyes. “Have more confidence.”

Sighing, Wright nods. “I guess you're right,” he says. “I should, especially if I want to be a good role model for him.”

“You're one of the best this country has ever seen in the courtroom, Wright.”

“I could stand to hear that more often.”

Edgeworth cuts the air with a sharp sigh. Wright grins.

“I’m already pushing it by exceeding my daily quota, Wright,” he says. “As I was saying, you're already a covetable mentor and role model. Any other expectations are ones of your own fabrication. You shouldn't put so much pressure on yourself.”

A small smile curves Wright's mouth. “You know,” he says, “I came to you because you're my best friend and pretty much the smartest guy I know. I wasn't expecting actual human advice. You've really embraced the soft part of you, you know?”

“Wright, I think you forget that I have an adoptive younger sister. The circumstances have their similarities.”

“Can't you just take a compliment?”

“I’ve been told that's not exactly my area.”

“Yes, by me, many, many times. Guess that's my bad.”

Edgeworth smiles in that careful, small way of his. “So,” he says, cutting the atmosphere yet again, smile dropping, “what's the next step?”

“Well, I got my badge back, so I was thinking I should go for my driver's license next—”

“Wright,” Edgeworth says severely.

Wright grins, but he does have the sense to be a tiny bit sheepish. “Wait until a confession comes or not?” he says. He shrugs.

Edgeworth drums his fingertips on his arm. The gesture does not produce sound, but Wright hears it regardless.

“You know,” Wright says, “I thought you would've advised against any sort of advance. He is my colleague, after all, and also eleven years my junior.”

“Wright, I’ve learned that there isn't much I can do to stop you once you've put your mind to something.”

For a second, Edgeworth expresses just a hint of discomfort. Wright almost misses it with all his shameless grinning, but his eyes are very familiar with Edgeworth's silhouette, every sigh and frown comprising a canvas he'd committed to memory with effortless ease ages ago.

Edgeworth fidgets in his seat as light glints off his glasses. He looks like a villain about to make a confession in one of his beloved historic cartoon series. Which is to say, his face moves muscles that slightly resemble some sort of emotion.

“Which is why,” Edgeworth says, “the next logical question is about your future plans. If you have any. Which I am not surprised that you lack.”

“You and your logic,” Wright scoffs. Edgeworth's brow furrows and Wright counts it as a victory. “Guess it's my bad, yet again, to hope for something that isn't a product of your infallible logic.”

A pause.

“You're asking for my personal opinion.”

“He's learning.”

Edgeworth rolls his eyes.

“I don't suppose I have one,” he says, but there's a note of hesitation that slows his lips.

“Uh huh. But you always have an opinion about me.”

“Remember what I said earlier about your vanity?”

Wright chuckles. “Alright, got me there. Still,” he presses, “I’m asking as a friend.”

Edgeworth's expression sours. “That's cheap, pulling the friend card,” he complains.

“It wouldn't be if you just acted without having to be prompted.”

“Fine.”

Edgeworth leans back in his seat. Wright observes the fading scent of ceylon and the faint hints of expensive cologne hanging on Edgeworth's shirt cuffs.

“It's your life, Wright. If you think you can be happy with him, that he can be happy with you, then I don't see how it's a question.”

Silence brews between them, hot, with steam curling at the edges.

“Edgeworth,” Wright coos, “you are so damn cute.”

“Are you asking to be thrown out of my office?” Edgeworth replies hotly, brow twitching.

“That's so sweet of you,” Wright continues, “wanting the best for me and all that. I’d almost think you had a crush on me, too!”

“Wright, with the rate at which your head is ballooning, I’m starting to doubt you'll fit through the door even if I attempt to throw you out of it.”

“That's not a denial.”

“Wright,” Edgeworth says, and the sharp quality of that warning is warmed steel against Wright's throat. “I do not have a crush on you. Don't mistake me for your twenty-something-year-old protege.”

“Oh my god, you're jealous!”

Edgeworth's eyes flash behind his glasses. The thrill of his prickling energy pressing Wright into his seat is reminiscent of those poker games Wright used to play; it's a satisfying taste of nostalgia. That's Edgeworth, through and through.

“I wasn't expecting a confession in exchange for my problem, but I guess that's one way of going about it,” Wright says. His face hurts from grinning.

“Wright.”

The name drops like a bucket of cold water atop Wright's head. Game's over.

Wright sobers his expression. Across from him is a marble statue with cracks around the eyes and mouth. Lines of age, weathering, personality. It doesn't take away from the beauty of the statue, no. In fact, it adds life, and it is there that Wright seeks out clues, truth.

He stepped out of line. He should have known. Edgeworth can be flighty, sometimes more literally than not, when it comes to his emotions. But sometimes Wright can't help himself—especially because of that flight risk.

Some of the lines on that face were carved by Wright himself. And maybe that's why Wright finds himself drawn there, searching. The statue before him is in its most permanent iteration; maybe it's habit that Wright tests that permanence.

“Alright,” Wright says. He resists the urge to put up his hands in some show of submission. “I’m sorry. I stepped out of line.”

Edgeworth's expression tightens like a canvas over its wooden frame. Were he to allow a drop of emotion to hit that pristine primer, Wright is sure he'd be marvelous.

“Perhaps,” Edgeworth allows. Tension slowly seeps out of his face. “And perhaps I should learn how to take a joke one of these days. You'd think I would have, after all this time.”

“You know what they say,” Wright replies, “old dogs and new tricks and all that.”

He finds himself surprised to feel his own body relax. He shouldn't be. More often than not, he's drawn like a bow when he's with Edgeworth.

Edgeworth adjusts his glasses on his face, replaces that mask of cool he's so fond of.

“You really are the turnabout master,” he says, and his voice is weary as he speaks, “somehow spinning this matter into a question of our friendship.”

“It was just a joke,” Wright offers. An olive branch.

Edgeworth manages a wry smile that doesn't quite breach the barrier of his glasses. “Right, and this is the part where I laugh,” he deadpans.

Wright mirrors that wry expression and pulls his phone from his pocket. “Text from Trucy,” he says. “Says she's hungry. I gave her lunch money, but I guess she just misses this newly handsome face.”

Edgeworth stares at him. Wright has an excellent poker face, practised and perfected out of Edgeworth's observant eye. Still, Wright doubts himself under that grey scrutiny.

“You'd know better than I do,” Edgeworth replies airily. He pointedly pulls out a folder from his desk drawer. “Go to her.”

“I’ll update you on the Apollo situation,” Wright promises him.

Edgeworth's expression doesn't budge. His marble is luminous in the sunlight.

“I shall wait with bated breath,” he replies in a voice that certainly does not suggest that he will.

It's an easily difficult move to step out of Edgeworth's office.

—————————

Apollo makes his move sooner than later.

They're both doing some reading from a recent conference out of state when Apollo clears his throat.

“Um, Mr… Phoenix,” he starts.

“Please,” Wright replies, “Mr. Phoenix was my father. Just call me Phoenix. Nick if you're feeling daring.”

Apollo chuckles and the sound warms Wright's belly. “I’ll just try Phoenix on for size for now,” he replies.

Wright avoids making a comment about size.

“Anyway,” Apollo powers on, the brave lad, “I just noticed the time and I was wondering if you wanted me to pick up something from the ramen cart or something. Or, uh, if you wanted to stretch your legs, we could get dinner…?”

“Not somewhere too far,” Wright replies. “These legs can only work so hard after five p.m.”

Apollo's face brightens with the brilliance of starlight. Wright doubts he could ever think of Apollo without also thinking of the galaxy, celestial beauty.

“W-Well, we have a couple of options,” Apollo says, and it's immediately clear that he's been thinking about this for a while. Prepared for several situations and possible outcomes. He can really be such a tryhard sometimes. It's incredibly endearing.

Apollo rattles off some restaurant names ranging from casual to chic. In his heart of hearts, Wright is a simple man; in his wallet, there isn't much to speak of.

“I guess it depends,” Wright says. “Are you treating me?”

Somehow the question is weighty enough to tighten Apollo’s lips.

A switch flips in Apollo’s head. He smiles, worried and weary at the same time, and replies, “Yeah, it’s on me.”

“I could use some fresh air,” Wright accepts. Apollo is the sun.

Wright hasn’t extinguished a sun before. He expects it to be an implosion, a great snuff of fire going up in smoke—he also expects that sun to burn again, a different flame for a better man.

———————————

The next time Wright ends up in Edgeworth’s office around noon, that cyclical scent of ceylon in the air, Edgeworth moves first.

“I pray you’ve come with good news?” Edgeworth asks. His tone is so flat Wright almost trips on his feet on the way in.

“God, the attitude already!” Wright accuses. “I didn’t even say hi and you’re already at my throat!”

“I haven’t had time to face you in court,” Edgeworth replies, having the gall to smile through his words, “so I’ve got to keep you sharp somehow.”

Wright feels his heart expand and deflate all at once.

“I’m not trying to sound desperate,” Wright says, “but man, I miss that.”

Edgeworth’s smile remains for a few moments longer. “Be careful what you wish for,” he says. It’s a chimera caught between promising and threatening.

“Anyway,” Edgeworth says on an inhale. His chest is stiff. Wright couldn’t be more endeared. “Have you any news regarding Apollo, or are you here simply to be a bother?”

Wright hesitates. “You’re so formal,” he begins.

“Don’t deflect,” Edgeworth presses.

Wright winces. “He… He basically asked me out,” he explains. “Like—on a date. Dinner date. He had more confidence than I was expecting, which was insanely cute.”

Edgeworth takes a cup of tea from the corner of his desk and brings it closer. He nods at Wright, prompting him to continue.

Again, Wright hesitates. “He’s cute,” he says, “don’t get me wrong. And he was such—such a gentleman, you know?”

“None of the things you’re saying have anything to do with what actually occurred that night,” Edgeworth observes. He smiles once again. There’s no time to analyze the nature of this smile.

Wright circles his thumbs around each other. “I mean,” he says, his words skipping across the surface of his tongue, “nothing happened.”

“And yet, you seem tormented by the whole thing.”

“‘Tormented’ is a strong word,” Wright comments, flinching.

Edgeworth rolls his eyes. “Regardless, it seems to be on your shoulders,” he says. “What happened? Or was it something you said to him?”

“I guess…” Wright trails off, remembering. With ease, he reels the memories of last night from his mind. The shy touches at his waist. The fluttering smiles. The vigorous blush on the boy’s face.

“I guess it was just that nothing happened,” Wright says. He swallows, and then he also says, “And—well, I told him nothing would happen.”

Edgeworth’s eyebrows fly up his forehead. “It took only one date to make you feel certain?” he asks. The incredulity from his lips is sweet.

Wright stops fidgeting his hands. He places them on Edgeworth’s desk, feeling the earth under his touch. Edgeworth observes him.

“I knew,” Wright says quietly, “that nothing would happen.”

“So,” Edgeworth says, “why did you go?”

“What was I supposed to do,” Wright sighs. He looks down at his hands. They stretch under the weight of two gazes.

There is silence in the room, bitter, aromatic. Wright’s sinuses must be inflamed.

“You know,” Wright starts, unsure of where he’s going, taking blind step after blind step forward, “this is the first time I’ve ever, in the last eight years, talked about—”

He stops. He’s afraid to continue.

Slowly, he raises his eyes to Edgeworth’s face. What meets him is pure, flawless marble—and somehow that gives Wright strength.

“This is the first time,” Wright starts again, “that I’ve mentioned anything about my love life to you, in the entirety of our friendship, and the fact that you said I should do what makes me happy…”

Wright inhales. Exhales. Spurs roll across the walls of his lungs.

“It made me—happy,” Wright says. He chokes on the word, so bulbous and contorted against his soft palate.

Edgeworth pulls forward, closer into Wright’s gravity, inclined towards his downcast eyes. “Wright,” he says softly. “Is there something the matter?”

“You really think that—that I could be happy with Apollo…?”

Wright’s question sounds so hollow, so empty, fragile porcelain that rings thinly against the blunt head of a hammer.

“Well, there’s no way I can be certain,” Edgeworth admits. “I—I could only hope for your happiness,” he adds quietly. “Above all. Indeed, this is the first time romance has ever been discussed between the two of us, and I do recognize the significance of that. And—as simple as it is, I wish only for you to be happy, my friend.”

My friend. The sound of the words vibrating against the walls of Edgeworth’s lush office feels like a succession of lashes against Wright’s spine, propelling him forward. His palms root his weight against the desk between them.

Wright stares at Edgeworth. He knows this face, this perfect, weathered, marble face. The image of that face has haunted him for decades now, in so many different iterations Wright could fill an entire library with records of Edgeworth.

He knows this face, his life’s greatest constant, his favourite everyday novelty.

Today is not a day of novelty. Today, Edgeworth looks the same as ever. He looks steady and stony.

And yet Wright takes his leap.

“You could,” Wright says haltingly, “make me happy.”

The air falls completely still.

Edgeworth inhales. Wright is certain of the ceylon aroma against Edgeworth’s senses, and that is all he is certain of.

“Pardon me?” Edgeworth asks.

“You could make me happy.”

It is an admission, and it is an admission that slides from the pit of Wright’s guts out into the ceylon air of Edgeworth’s plush and posh office.

“I don’t,” Edgeworth says with such slowness, such viscosity, “I don’t know what you mean—”

“Don’t play dumb,” Wright hisses. The noise is ugly, as is the ball of nerves knotting up his lungs and throat.

Edgeworth flushes, flustered. “I’m not—” he starts, but he can’t find the finish. His eyes begin to drown in his blush. The astonishing shade of red startles Wright into a laugh.

“I’m not playing dumb!” Edgeworth spits. His hairs are standing on end. “I genuinely have no idea what you could be insinuating!”

Wright rolls his eyes, and with it, the room spins on its axis in the second of an instant. “No, you do,” he insists. “You do. There’s no way. You’ve been around the world; you’ve met so many people. I can’t spell this out for you, Edgeworth.”

Haunches raised, Edgeworth stirs. He rises from his chair, matching Wright’s stature. His eyes are steel daggers pinning Wright to the floor, as if the weight of Edgeworth’s presence wasn’t heavy enough to incapacitate him.

“Then,” Edgeworth says, and the simple, single syllable draws Wright tight like a bowstring.

“Then?” Wright asks.

Edgeworth approaches. Wright’s breath feels crowded in his chest.

“Then you won’t mind,” Edgeworth starts, and his lips form the finish against Wright’s mouth.

Relief is the first wave to crash against Wright’s sensibilities, and with it brings clarity that lasts all of two seconds before the wave of fire crashes in after. Edgeworth is cool steel that does nothing to calm Wright’s flames—the phoenix dragged out of the ashes Wright hadn’t known had settled. Edgeworth is a beast tamer, and Wright the beast, constantly at the whims of his master.

It’s a short moment of contact, perhaps even chaste. And yet, Wright can feel fire licking at his nerves; he can feel lava pour into his joints and cool all too rapidly; and suddenly, he is a statue of stone, fixed in place as Edgeworth circles him with his eyes.

“You’re right,” Wright says. “I didn’t mind.”

#narumitsu #wrightworth #ace attorney #ace attorney fanfiction #mywriting #otp #aa #pw #those are my own tags lol sorry #i actually wrote this like 3 years ago and just edited it #also I'm so sorry i posted this on mobile so if it's ugly that's why

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