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- Los Angeles, March 30, 2019 -
There were those few moments suspended in time between dreaming and waking, when Phoenix’s mind started forming thoughts that slipped from being fuzzy to being half coherent. He was certain of two things - first, that he was at home, in his bed, and second, that he was alone.
Still, like most things he was certain of during those times, at least one proved to be wrong. He was suddenly grateful for the larger bed his mother had somehow managed to convince him to get during one of her regular long-distance calls. Somehow, even a long twin bed wouldn’t have suited what he was suddenly very aware of was himself and another person.
And not just any person, but Miles Edgeworth, his mind reminded him.
He rolled over, screwing his eyes shut against the morning sun and stretching out his sleep-aching muscles. There was a method to it - roll, stretch, try to sleep for five more minutes, scratch stomach, and then finally stretch again and get out of bed. Today, he skipped everything after the second step and blinked his eyes open, just to make sure he wasn't dreaming.
...And there he was, laid on his side with his back to Phoenix, covered only by the sheet and his grey hair disordered as it always was, first thing. Phoenix let a smile creep across his face before inching closer across the mattress, until they were just barely touching. He lay there for a few seconds, content to watch him sleep before he pressed closer, closing his eyes with a contented smile.
By contrast, Miles’ dreams - and his waking - were conflicted and confusing, just as they had been ever since Iris Hawthorne's trial. More so than they had been for a while, now. Fire, smoke, cold, blood, snow... Phoenix pushing the small, gold badge into his palm, closing his fingers over it and whispering something to him that he couldn't hear, those bright blue eyes absolutely trusting - even happy.
Sometimes it was Iris Hawthorne in the dock - other times Maya or Franziska… but most often it was Phoenix - just as it had been three years ago when Mia Fey had been murdered. But always, now, it was Miles defending them and Manfred that he faced across the court as he desperately grasped at evidence to challenge the prosecution witnesses. He could feel those sincere blue eyes still on him, trusting him to win even as his mentor laughed at the fake defence attorney, producing new photographs and reports which contradicted Miles' every objection.
Pulling the comforter up over the both of them a little, Phoenix smiled again. They didn’t need the warmth, given the unusually hot weather, but somehow it made the two of them feel closer. These were his favorite mornings, when he could lay next to him and muse over the impossibility of it all. They couldn’t have possibly… but they did. And they had been, for a few weeks now. They were together, in a way, and he was sure he was in love.
And this time, nothing would happen to spoil it, he was certain of it.
His smile broadened, and he nuzzled his face in a bit closer, kissing him softly against the cheek before he pulled back, slightly. Miles would be waking up at any second, Phoenix had to get in what he could while he had the opportunity.
Deep in Edgeworth’s dream, the scenery shifted. He was standing at his window in the Prosecutors’ Office, the small, gold badge discarded on the floor by his feet. A sickening wave of vertigo when he looked down… and someone moved behind him. Close... too close - the heat of a body and the smell of wool and lavender - a hand resting on his shoulder and long fingers which tightened possessively into his collarbone. The movement of hot breath on cool skin and the murmur of something gentle but cruel, short hairs on the back of Miles' neck prickling in response as he struggled to put space between them.
Lips brushed his cheek and he almost cried out, inhaling sharply as he pulled away from it - from the feel of sticky, overheated skin pressing against his back; from the sensation of someone leaning over him, blocking his light and taking his air. Don’t.
When Miles breathed in, moved, jerking away from him, Phoenix shrank back for a few seconds. He wasn't upset… he had almost gotten used to the fact that there were some things Miles wasn't comfortable with yet, and he shook his head at himself for thinking it would be okay to get so close while he was sleeping.
It took a moment more before Miles registered that he was in a bed - Phoenix's bed - the blue-striped comforter half pushed off and the smell of clean linen mingling with the smell of him, sharp and close. Even then, he didn't trust himself to speak, the remnants of the dream fogging his mind and the overlapping awareness of his own half-arousal almost nauseating.
“Hey. Good morning”.
Phoenix’s tone was uncertain. Alright, so maybe he was a little upset. Still, he was trying to not let it seep into his voice as best as possible. It wasn't Miles' fault, really, and he could only hope that he wasn't going to wake up pissed at him for doing something stupid like that.
He smiled then - if only halfway - and lay back on his side of the bed.
“...Sleep alright”?
Miles let his pulse and his breathing slow before he answered, eyes half closed as he waited for the last of the dream to pass; waited for the ghosts to give way to reality. The reality of Phoenix's bedroom - plain, sparse and, Miles knew, cleared of its customary clutter in a typically Phoenix Wright attempt at being hospitable.
The blue sheets and the carpet that was worn bare in places; the permanent flash of the neon light from across the street and the sound of traffic; the morning sunlight that flooded the window and heated the room beyond the capability of the air conditioning. It should have been as familiar to him by now as his own apartment on the other side of the city... and yet he still felt like an intruder.
And he could hear it in Phoenix's voice; that half hurt that usually accompanied an evasive look or a sudden interest in the ground, that he had heard too many times a year ago during the strained atmosphere of the Engarde trial.
His first impulse was to be irritated - to take out the feeling of disgust that lingered around the edges of his dream on the nearest target. And perhaps, a few weeks ago, he might have succumbed to it - a sharp remark and a hasty exit to the bathroom, or even home. But now...
A barely audible sigh as he closed his eyes briefly and then rolled onto his back, the sudden and protesting ache of his muscles in response prompting a brief smirk of memory from the night before. He didn't turn his head to look at him, just reached across and rested a hand over Phoenix's wrist.
“It was just a dream”.
Phoenix opened his eyes fully at the touch to his wrist, nodding softly. He had almost gotten used to it by now, knowing even still that Miles was haunted by nightmares. The first night he had found out had been more than surprising, and somehow, he had a suspicion that he hadn't even seen the worst of them yet.
“Oh”.
It was all that he could manage before he turned on his side to face him, stretching again and yawning as he did. He still wasn't quite sure what one said to that, knowing that someone else's dreams were less than pleasant. He briefly considered ‘sorry’, before he realized that might only earn him a reproach about how he shouldn't apologize for something that wasn't his fault.
He stayed quiet for a few seconds, studying the outline of Miles’ face in the morning sun and pushing the comforter off again when the warmth seemed smothering, leaving just the light blue sheet to cover himself.
A smile, and he slipped his arm under the pillow, propping his head up a bit. For a few seconds, he fumbled over words, inwardly cursing at how completely inept he was at this, before he finally just stopped thinking about what he was going to say, and started talking.
“But you slept okay otherwise, right”?
Miles withdrew his hand when Phoenix moved, his eyes still half closed against the light. He could feel the sheets damp against his skin; a rustle of linen and the scent of sweat and lube as Phoenix shifted closer, the warmth of his body adding to the temperature of the room. But this time, he made no attempt to move himself, his limbs lazy and unresponsive in the heat as he murmured a vague affirmative to the question.
It was a lie. Most of the night he had spent lying silently awake - watching Phoenix sleep by the maddeningly constant pulse of the neon; unconsciously numbering each punctuation of the dark by the sickly blue light. Several times, he had lost count as he drifted in and out of sleep, until exhaustion had finally claimed him just after dawn.
Phoenix slept in a way that he imagined a child would - deeply and peacefully, his breathing almost always quiet and even. Watching over him had become almost a habit. It had been partly formed out of a care never again to slip into a nightmare while they shared a bed - a fear of showing a part of himself to Phoenix that he guarded so closely. But underlying that was the undeniable comfort of it, almost as if he could absorb some of that undisturbed rest by a peculiar kind of osmosis.
“Breakfast? I'm starving”.
He could sense the smile in Phoenix’s voice without looking and finally he turned his head, meeting those warm blue eyes with a smile of his own.
“And by ‘breakfast’, I suppose you mean whatever cereal you have left from when the Feys last visited”?
Phoenix chuckled, then yawned again.
“It's okay, Miles. You can admit that you really want some Samurai Crunch”.
He had almost gotten used to this - spending nights together and then the mornings, and somehow, he was sure that Miles was slowly growing more and more comfortable with things the way they were.
And he was happy. For the first time in years, it seemed like his life was finally complete; that he wasn't missing anything, wasn't chasing after the shadow of anyone. He had spent years running after Edgeworth, fighting him, working alongside him, and finally realizing that somehow, his feelings had meant something more.
It took a drunken kiss and a week after that for him to realize it, but he had, and here he was. He flopped onto his back, smiling and half closing his eyes.
Miles snorted.
“Samurai Crunch? And I suppose that Maya Fey had you buy five boxes in an attempt to collect all variants of the action figure? Really, Wright, she has you wrapped around her little finger”.
But his tone was more amused than critical. He had realised two years ago that Wright and the Feys were practically a family - a strange one, certainly - but a family nonetheless. He had also realised that Maya Fey's powers of persuasion were formidable, having fallen foul of them himself on several occasions - it was really quite astonishing how often she found herself starving and without money.
“Yeah, and who's the one who knew there was an action figure in the box? With variants, I might add”.
There was a smugness to Phoenix’s tone which was echoed on his face, both reminiscent of being caught by one of his bluffs in court. It prompted a brief quirk at the corner of his mouth from Miles in return.
“I do go to the grocery store, Wright. Food does not simply materialise in my apartment”.
His tone was still cutting, but there was no denying the smile that curved his lips in response to Phoenix's now-triumphant smirk, and he shook his head with a quiet chuckle of exasperation. Still, he had no intention of admitting he knew perfectly well that there were action figures in the boxes and that he had two himself - in his study - although admittedly, he had thrown most of the cereal away afterwards.
“I hope that you have fresh milk, at the least. Otherwise I will eat at home”.
“Yeah, yeah. The milk's fine, I just bought it. Jeez”.
Miles turned onto his side to face Phoenix, eyes lingering thoughtfully over his face, framed as it was by the sunlight which streamed in through the window and pierced the thin, blue curtains effortlessly.
Maya. Miles wondered how she would react to the new situation he and Wright found themselves in. And as for Pearl Fey... he frowned as he imagined the reproachful looks that would no doubt follow on the heels of any admission from Phoenix about the nature of their relationship.
“Have you told them”?
Phoenix’s expression remained smug for a moment more before the abrupt change of topic sank in. He shook his head softly, his expression sobering as he thought about it. He probably should talk to Maya soon.
“...not yet. I'm sure that Maya will be fine. Hell, she'll probably be happy… but Pearls…”
He stopped, taking in a heavy breath and sighing. While he was sure that Pearls would still speak to him, she'd be devastated. He really didn't want to be responsible for that.
“...I don't really want to upset her. She already gets mad at me-”
‘-over Iris’, but he faltered there, and the words were left unsaid, the sentence unfinished. Somehow, it just didn't seem right anymore. Their relationship had changed, and even he knew that talk of Iris was probably best to be avoided at the moment.
It stung, and he half felt guilty about her, even if he somehow knew he had no reason to be. They always said that you never forgot your first love, and he wasn't sure if he would ever want to. Iris was the best part of a rough time in his life, and knowing that somehow, it hadn't been Dahlia the whole time… that made things better. Still, she was his past, much as he might feel fondly for that time and even admire her a bit now. Miles was his present. The sudden brightness to his tone was only half a bluff, but he closed his eyes as he spoke, just in case Miles caught him in even part of a lie.
“...so, I mean, maybe it might be better to talk to her with Maya about it. If we both tell her, it might not be so bad”.
Miles’ smile faded as he watched Phoenix pondering an encounter with the Feys - as he waited for the rest of that sentence which never came. Instead, it was replaced by a furrowed brow, a silence that seemed ominous, and then the hurried conclusion which seemed to be nothing more than an attempt to smother the earlier pause.
‘...about girls’. He finished Phoenix's previous words in his head and abruptly sat up, pulling up his knees and resting his forearms on them. The blue sheet slipped down to his waist and his muscles protested the sudden change of position, but he ignored both, a deeper frown settling onto his face, although he took care to hide it from Phoenix.
The idea of lying to Maya was anathema to him - yes, he'd disliked her once... even hated her, and everything that she stood for as a member of the Fey clan. But ever since his trial, when she'd put herself in contempt of court to prevent a guilty verdict... he had looked at her with different eyes. And now, after Hazakura…
Still, the discussion made him uncomfortable - Phoenix's hesitation and his own unfamiliarity with this kind of situation mingling with the doubts that had plagued him since Phoenix had first returned that kiss five weeks ago. That uneasy feeling that he had coerced Phoenix into their current situation returned, and he shrugged, keeping his back turned.
“There is no rush to speak to them, Phoenix. I merely wondered if you had”.
Phoenix opened his eyes at the shift in the bed next to him and he moved himself, shuffling to sit up and lean back against the headboard. He looked away as he spoke, glancing at the pile of his clothes on the floor, Miles’ jacket hanging over the open closet door, the clock on his dresser opposite the bed.
“I… hadn't really gotten a chance to. I mean, I was waiting for the right time...”
Excuses, excuses. The truth had been that it was such new territory, and even he wasn't quite sure if it was ‘official’ yet… He still half expected Edgeworth to leave his apartment one day and never come back.
He'd never had much luck with this sort of thing, and much as he was simply going with it… he was still unsure of himself. The few weeks that had passed seemed to stretch on like ages, but they had gone all too quickly, and there were times that he could have sworn that it was just the day before that he had kissed Miles back after that agonizing week of trying to decide exactly how he felt.
Everything felt so new, and somehow, so fragile, and he was almost certain that one false step, one wrong thing might inadvertently chase Miles away. To be honest, he was waiting for Edgeworth to realize that he could do better.
Phoenix's voice petered out into silence, but Miles didn't reply. It stretched on between them, the quiet and the heat of the room like a weight pressing down on his shoulders. He had the sense that Phoenix was waiting for an answer - for some kind of response.
But what was there to say? He was no more able to frame the words than Phoenix was, glossing over the subject whenever Franziska called, demanding to know where he had been when she last telephoned - why he had not been either at home or work and why his cell was turned off. The entire situation was as alien to him as it apparently was to Phoenix, if in a different way. He ran a hand through his hair, still unruly from sleep, then sighed, his tone resigned.
“I understand”.
Silence for a few moments more and then he moved to lie back on his side, propping himself on one elbow among the pillows and tilting his head to look up at Phoenix. With his other hand, he absently traced the remnants of scars and yellowing bruises on Phoenix's right hip.
“...Do you have any plans for next weekend”?
At the touch, Phoenix shifted slightly, drawing more of the sheet into his lap. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on anything except for those fingers tracing out a pattern on his skin. A slight smile crossed his lips.
It was a slightly odd question, coming from Edgeworth, who seemed to prefer more spur-of-the-moment encounters. But still - he was just expecting dinner arrangements to be made, or something along those lines. And the heat of that hand on him was enough of a preoccupation to stop him from thinking completely straight.
“No, not next weekend. W-why”?
A slightly raised eyebrow and a brief smirk at Phoenix's response to his touch, then Miles deliberately let his fingers trail a little lower, slowly following the line of a deeper scratch that was almost healed, curving away from him to the inside of Phoenix’s thigh.
“The doctor told you that you needed rest and recuperation. He also suggested that you take a vacation. You have done neither”.
A little lower... fingertips brushing against the edge of the sheet that Phoenix was clutching in what was an obvious attempt to cover his involuntary arousal. Another brief smirk, then he relented, drawing his hand back a little and circling the outline of Phoenix’s hip bone with his thumb.
“I am determined that you will do one or both, Phoenix - and before I leave the country”.
He hesitated, suddenly unsure how to make the suggestion, even though he had been half planning it for the past few days. It was only just over a week until Phoenix's birthday, and while he had never celebrated his own since he was a child, he was aware that Phoenix did. That - along with his exasperation at Phoenix's apparent intent to ignore the advice of his doctors - had triggered the idea, and two telephone calls had cemented it.
But now... in the light of their previous conversation, he could feel the doubt flooding in - that constant worry which nagged at him that somehow, he was manipulating the affair. That Phoenix would blame him, once he had the time and the space to consider his actions.
The movement of his fingers on Phoenix's thigh stilled and he looked away, at the clock on the dresser that blinked away the minutes; suddenly aware of the faint sound of Saturday traffic intensifying as it filtered in through the window and the city began to stir.
“I thought perhaps we might go away. For the weekend”.
He didn't look back at Phoenix as he said it. It sounded clumsy to his ears, a frown settling across his face in annoyance at his own awkwardness and in response to the doubts.
“I... will have to take some work. But it would be a chance for you to rest”.
Phoenix glanced down when the distraction of that touch ceased, watching Miles' face as he spoke. He smiled, then nodded.
“That sounds like it might be nice”.
The work part was almost expected, but still… a chance to spend the weekend together would be good, “...where did you have in mind”?
Miles paused before he replied, still feeling as though he was replaying some scene from one of those terrible, daytime movies that Phoenix occasionally left running on the TV in his office or at home.
“There's a place at Point Loma with a private beach. I've stayed there before”. A moment, then as an afterthought, “...Alone”.
Cursing inwardly at the clumsy addition - at even feeling he needed to make it - there was a faint resentment at having to justify himself which mingled with his misgivings and the ever-present fear of giving too much of himself to one person.
He closed his eyes for a moment, willing it to pass, concentrating on the warmth of Phoenix's skin under his hand - slightly sticky from the heat - and on the soft hairs brushing against his palm. This had been his choice, he reminded himself - it was what he had wanted - what had prompted him to forget his boundaries in a haze of alcohol and laughter only a few weeks earlier.
“Point Loma, huh? Just the two of us”?
Phoenix considered it. That would be nice, actually. It would be a chance to get out of the city and just be together for the weekend… It occurred to him then that it would be the only time they'd had a whole weekend to themselves since this whole thing had started.
“...I could invite Larry, if you would prefer. Or Gumshoe. I'm sure he would be an excellent chaperone”.
Edgeworth kept his voice deliberately arch, but it was only half a joke. There was still the sense that things were moving too fast, that he was more out of his depth as each day passed. He wondered again if Phoenix felt the same, despite the memory of blue eyes fixed on his, and a breathless ‘I'm sure’ before their lips had met for the third time and he’d taken him to his bed.
Phoenix didn't say anything to the smart remark, instead simply shaking his head. That was Edgeworth. He would always be like that.
“Yeah, sounds like it could be fun. It’s been a while since I’ve seen the ocean up close”.
Watching Edgeworth for a moment longer, he shrugged softly and then tugged the sheet over a bit so that it covered up more of the bruising.
”But well… you know… I'm fine, really”.
Still, a smile settled onto his face. It was just one of those things that showed that yes, Miles actually did care. That maybe this wasn’t just some way of passing the time until he could leave again and go back to Europe and to whatever his life was like, there.
Shifting position slightly, Edgeworth moved away from the pillows, resting the side of his head down into Phoenix's lap with a quiet sigh - the scent of the sheet under his cheek mingling with the scent of him. He kept his eyes closed, but there was a sceptical arch of the eyebrow at Wright’s insistence about his state of health, even though he knew it wasn’t visible to Phoenix from this angle.
“Is that so? I would be interested to know where you acquired your medical degree. At the Hotti Clinic, perhaps”?
Miles moved, and Phoenix’s musings were interrupted. He looked down at the unexpected weight of that head of unruly silver in his lap, and smiled.
“Yeah, very funny”.
He raised up his hand to muss up Miles' hair, but decided that no more damage could be done. Instead he hesitated, then rested his hand down on the very top of Miles’ arm.
“...Promise you won't work the whole time”?
It was maybe the last chance they would really have to spend that much time together before Miles had to leave again. He'd have to make it count.
Phoenix's hand coming to rest below his shoulder stirred Miles from his thoughts and he opened his eyes, returning the touch with a slight increase of pressure from his hand on Phoenix's thigh.
“Unfortunately, I have a paper to complete in advance of my visit to Switzerland. although I doubt it will take three days to write”.
There was a slight frown at the allusion to his looming departure from the country. It was not a comfortable subject between them, despite the fact that he had spent the best part of the past year abroad, and it was not a debate he relished bringing into the bedroom.
“If you find my company lacking, Pess will gladly keep you entertained”.
A paper… So, he really was going away. Some days Phoenix hoped that he never would - that he'd find some way to get out of it, to stay back. It seemed like everything was just leading up to Miles leaving again… and if Phoenix were to admit it, part of himself was worried that he might never come back. He might come to his senses in Switzerland and realize he could do better.
“You're bringing Pess”?
That shook him from his thoughts and he smiled again. To be honest, he was rather fond of the dog, and he was glad that Miles had at least someone or something to keep him company. Pess reminded Phoenix of the dog his mother used to keep when he was a child - a large black dog - and he always liked spending time with the closest thing that Miles had to family over here. Pess' approval could be won with cheese sandwiches and behind the ear scratches, something he was certain he could never win from Miles' other family - his sister.
“Of course. I couldn't deprive him of a weekend at the beach - that would be entirely unfair”.
It was a welcome change of subject and Miles smiled - at the memory of Pess rolling in wet sand and barking at the gulls that bobbed on the swell beyond his reach. He was no longer a young dog - there had been no way to tell exactly how old he was when Gumshoe had first found him in the pound, underweight and in poor condition. The vet had estimated eighteen months, at least, which meant that he was now well into middle-age. But at the beach, he seemed to rediscover the puppyhood that Miles had never seen and that he often wondered if Pess had ever experienced. At those times, Miles could almost envy him.
Shifting his position in the bed again, he turned onto his back, pushing damp hair out of his eyes as he looked up at Phoenix.
“...I hope you have no objection? He seems to like you... although I've never found him particularly choosy”.
And there was a lazy smirk accompanying the words that soon became a yawn, the warmth of the room making him unaccountably sleepy.
Phoenix pulled his hand back when Miles moved, smiling as the light fell across a broad chest peppered with hair. He moved his hand there, just to the left of Miles' breastbone, where he knew he could feel his heartbeat.
He was silent for a few seconds, eyes half closed and letting the soft smile linger across his lips before he shook his head.
“No, not at all. It would be nice, actually”.
It meant that he’d have some company - to watch TV with him or take a walk while Miles was working. That meant something, at least. More than anything, he hated that feeling of being alone. He'd taken to keeping the TV on at home when he was on his own, just to fill the place with sound. Having Pess around was more than welcome.
Miles tensed slightly at the touch - the unexpected intimacy of it and the sudden heat of Phoenix's skin on his chest jolting him wide awake. But it was only for a moment - the half-formed urge to pull away from the contact lost as his eyes met Phoenix's again. The happiness that lurked there in those blue depths - the smile that underlined it - stilled any movement, and he let out the breath he had been holding, slowly and silently.
It surprised him still that Phoenix could find such obvious pleasure in his company, in any circumstance. It was almost intoxicating, and the doubts and the worry ebbed in the face of it, replaced with a gentle affection that he was too tired to question.
A belated half-nod at Phoenix’s words and he let his eyes close again, for once content to let the seconds stretch on. The sound of the traffic and the rattle of the overworked ceiling fan faded, and he was barely aware of lifting his own hand to cover Phoenix's before he drifted back to sleep.