professeurdeloi: (Sleeping)
[personal profile] professeurdeloi
Phoenix Wright stood at the window of his darkened apartment, a bottle of beer in his hand, watching the fireworks that brightened the sky right on the stroke of midnight.
 
I did it. For a moment he imagined that the myriad showers of light were just for him. He remembered the trial. He remembered the confetti in the courtroom when the not guilty verdict was announced. He remembered Edgeworth smiling in the lobby. He remembered Edgeworth earlier that evening, joking over a drink in a bar as if nothing had happened.
 
Happy New Year.
 
He thought about Edgeworth, smiled, and raised the bottle in a toast.
 
--
 
Miles Edgeworth sat at the desk in his empty apartment, a cup of tea cooling rapidly at his elbow, working his way through a stack of case files. From outside, there was the sound of an explosion, and it jerked him out of his study.
 
I did it. For a moment, he imagined that the sound was a gunshot. He remembered the hum and flicker of electricity. He remembered the stench of gunpowder and sweat. He remembered that scream and the photographs of his father’s body. He remembered sitting opposite Wright in the Detention Centre; the shame and the fear and the guilt.
 
Happy New Year.
 
He thought about Von Karma, closed his eyes, and put his head in his hands.

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professeurdeloi

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