Work Text:
Gray morning light passes through the window to illuminate an office couch. The comfort lies in cool leather; cracks and tears stretch along the plush surface, but not enough to expose the cushioned foam.
On this couch, Miles Edgeworth curls up one leg and lies back on a pillow. The winter morning reaches for him. He blinks to remove the sleep from his eyes.
An aftertaste of night lingers on his tongue. Miles frowns as he looks at his wrinkled dress shirt and slacks.
He wipes a hand along his face. The papers scattered in his vicinity only add to the chaos. Socked feet swiftly tip toe around the mish-mash of furniture to make way to the bathroom. Familiarity with the disordered path means his body recognizes the fake flowers resting atop a green footstool and the paint kit sitting in front of a tall, ornate mirror.
He brushes his teeth. Washes his face. To shower and change his clothes, he needs to retrieve supplies from the bedroom. But when he opens the door, he stops.
Phoenix sleeps in bed with his spiked hair splayed across the covers. The t-shirt and shorts crumble in cotton sheets. Phoenix’s undereye circles lose prominence as he breathes in the quiet.
By this time, Phoenix should wake up Trucy and get her to school. But it’s Saturday and Trucy is with Pearl and Maya for the weekend. Phoenix can sleep in.
Miles’ chest squeezes.
He decides to revise his plan. Waking up early, he believed he should work through his case. But he already stayed up late the previous night and while he takes his work seriously, it is not an immediate priority.
Right now, Miles shucks off his work clothes and slides under the sheets next to Phoenix.
The cool fabric touches his skin and Miles watches as Phoenix breathes. Stubble covers his jaw; Miles reaches out a hand to caress his cheek. His thumb brushes his nose and lips, his palm spreads over his neck.
Phoenix presses into the touch as he opens his eyes. The corners of Miles’ lips turn upward.
“G’morning,” Phoenix says, voice hoarse.
“Morning,” Miles responds.
“Did you just get here?”
“Yes.” Knowing his partner, Miles rolls his eyes. “Save the lecture.”
“What lecture?” Phoenix asks. “The one on ‘how to take care of your general health’ or the one on ‘how much sadder will it get when a man can’t sleep with his beautiful husband?’”
Miles hums. He grabs Phoenix’s hand. “Hold off on ‘general health.’ I wouldn’t mind hearing about my appearance.”
“Vanity wins again,” Phoenix says. Then he sniffs. “I haven’t been held yet.”
“Please accept my apologies.”
Thus, Miles moves closer and rests his bare legs against Phoenix’s. He puts his arm around him.
“Will this suffice?”
“Mm, yes. I can see you better.”
Miles scoffs. “Maybe you’re the one who needs glasses.”
“Gotta see clearly: the HD beau-ty!”
Phoenix snickers, and though it’s not particularly funny, Miles feels his jaw twitch to keep a smile from forming.
The last laugh turns into Phoenix yawning. When he closes his mouth, Miles kisses him.
A light touch of lips. Just a press, a hint of warmth, followed by release. He isn’t sure what his eyes look like but he finds a glimmer in Phoenix’s. The desire to pause and hold onto this moment flickers in his mind.
“I’d love to stay here, but I really have to piss.”
Miles nods and releases Phoenix, who scrambles in the direction of the bathroom. And, since he’s gotten out of bed–Miles retrieves clothing and shampoo.
He stares at the bottle, travel size. Moving back and forth can be inconvenient.
Though he only comes back to LA under the guise of working on tougher cases, the truth–to spend time with Phoenix and Trucy–is much sweeter. Four years after his disbarment, Phoenix has yet to relax his vigilance and believes in crafting appearances for protection.
The shadow echoes in the ring Miles wears on his necklace, not on his finger. Too many demons have yet to be eradicated, and safety comes with paranoia.
By the time Miles and Phoenix have cleaned up, steam from peppers and rice fill the office. Miles sits with a tea cup, watching as Phoenix hums and adds two eggs to the pan.
The dim light of the morning remains steady and reaches the kitchenette. Phoenix stirs the rice while humming a song that pings at his memories.
“Where is that from?” Miles asks.
“A musical,” Phoenix says. He places the spatula on the countertop. “I don’t know why, but it’s been stuck in my head all morning.”
Miles furrows his brow, thinking. “Is that the one with the girl who goes to law school?”
“Yep.”
“That one seems slower than the other ones you’ve sung before.”
Phoenix’s mouth pinches. “It’s a main ballad.” Then he sings a few lines.
The melody aches while Phoenix’s voice rises and falls along the words. Miles listens. He stands up and walks to the stove; he pulls Phoenix’s waist into his arms.
“What are you doing?” Phoenix turns off the stove, while most of his body is trapped.
“It’s beautiful. But depressing.” Miles steps back and looks at Phoenix. “I’d prefer not to cry right now.”
“I’m the one who’s more likely to cry.”
Miles shrugs. He takes Phoenix and sways in place, just a patter of their feet on the floor, shifting weight back and forth. He hums an upbeat song that contrasts with their slow movements. It’s a little off-key but Phoenix figures out the song and snickers.
“ABBA in the kitchen,” Phoenix says. “Fitting, somehow.”
“A much better option to be young and sweet than sad and lonely.”
Phoenix’s gaze lightens. “It is.”
Miles twirls Phoenix with his hand, and then they stop, just looking at each other.
They eat breakfast a few minutes later. Miles places his hand on Phoenix’s thigh. “In the future, I’d like to do this everyday,” he says.
“Me, too.”
They don’t say when that will be. But the promise echoes through the small office and rests in the silence.