Our Sonnets // Narumitsu

Depraved

Info
Song: -
Note: This one's just a short warmup from my head w/o a song to inspire it. It's sad again (what a surprise!)

Story
"Miles, I've fucked up." The short sentence was followed by a grainy, stony silence which resided somewhere in Europe far, far away - safe - from Phoenix Wright. Its base message was duly noted - and then emphasised by the accompanying, shaky sigh.
"How so."

It was Phoenix's turn to be greedy this time: to take without giving, so he gave up. He breathed ruggedly, intimately, into the microphone:
"What time is it for you?"
"Wright, I can tell you're crying. What's wrong?" The unmistakable rustling of a lonely and uneven duvet - their uneven duvet - dominated Edgeworth's eardrums for an inexplicable period of time within which he should have finished the paperwork for his latest homicide case but, instead, had spent subtly furrowing his silvery brow - in case any intruders happened to stumble upon his home away from home (his office in Germany) and caught him, Chief Prosecutor with his husband bawling on the other end of the line, in an ineptitude which had no bearing on the case. Phoenix, meanwhile, was strewn atop the mattress he and Miles had consummated their marriage on 2 years ago, shrouded by darkness with the foggiest of brains. He wasn't sure why it was that he felt like Phoenix-once-removed, why a mortifying vacancy was nibbling at his thighs or why he'd called his husband and suddenly burst into tears, really. What mattered, he supposed, was that he had fucked up. The crude expression had sort of just slipped out in an unsolicited manner, with no consent, that had made Phoenix feel faintly nauseous as he faintly whimpered:
"I wish you were here."

The resulting sigh was probably so loud that Edgeworth probably couldn't hear Phoenix's brittle heart shattering as he probably swallowed it down in the same way as he had with Dahlia.
"You know I can't fulfil that wish, Phoenix."
"I know," Phoenix breathed.
"I'm sorry." He added.
"I'm sorry too." Edgeworth shut his eyes and ruminated briefly before almost becoming dangerously entangled with his own thoughts, expertly crafted by a brain deprived of work. Phoenix heard the penetrative scratching of a biro through the crackling line, stopped himself sobbing and sunk his head into the pillow.
"You should rest. It's late for you." The biro advised.
"Will you visit again soon? It's..." The defence attorney hesitated as he ground his teeth into his lip before revealing too much. His continuation sounded strangled:
"I'm so lonely."
"On the 24th."
"How long?"
"The weekend." Phoenix's bloodshot eyes trickled further and further into the abyss as he stared up at nothing in particular; Miles. Miles had chosen that chandelier above their bed. It was beautiful and exquisite and gorgeous and entirely out of his budget. It was delicate. It would break if he touched it because he was clumsy. It shone ethereally, its stunning golden rays reflected upon each handcrafted glass shard, when turned on. It was a lot like Miles. Maybe that was why it was turned off.
"Do you miss me?" A cracked voice that he wasn't sure was his own.
"A lot."

Phoenix couldn't bear it.