Work Text:
Reason #1:
You have to molt once a year, apparently. Miles says it is not fun.
--
Phoenix remembered the first time he ever saw Miles's wings. It was back in fourth grade, and it was only a week after the infamous class trial; he'd been absent for a few days, and when he came back into class, he suddenly had a very small set of wings on his back. A few other kids had theirs coming in, and Miles was the latest, gray, downy feathers folded shyly against his back.
Phoenix marveled over them at recess that day, Larry joining in, and they asked him all about how it felt to have them. Neither of them had much hope for ever growing their own, and they wanted to know all about it. Miles seemed to dislike them, explaining how much it had hurt to have them come in (hence why he'd been out of school), and how he had to preen and clean them every single morning to keep them looking sharp. For the next few days he moped about all sorts of matters regarding them, lamenting about how annoying it would be when his down started to come out and adult feathers would replace them in his teenage years, how it took so much longer to get ready in the morning, and how everybody was now going to look at him weird and treat him differently.
While Miles made them sound awful, Phoenix still couldn't shake the desire to have wings of his own. His name was Phoenix, for god's sake! But his never sprouted, and once he was past his freshman year in high school, which was when the last very-late bloomers got theirs, he gave up hoping.
That didn't mean he still couldn't admire other people's, though. When he faced off against Miles in court, all he could look at were his wing, sleek and perfectly-preened, each feather in order and a beautiful, warm gray. They made him seem so dignified, so refined... and they also made him very attractive. Phoenix would moan to Maya about how hot he was, and she would snicker and call him a disaster bisexual (which was the truth, but she had no right to say that to him, seeing as she was one herself).
But at this point, Phoenix wished he hadn't been so obsessed with Miles's wings, because he was busy trying to extract one of those 'sleek and perfectly-preened' feathers from his throat, and how had it gotten in his coffee in the first place?
"Miles! How the hell did this get in here?" he exclaimed, finally managing to choke the damned thing out. He dangled it in front of his face, accusation in his mannerism, and waited for him to look up from his phone.
"I don't know. Now let me read the news." Miles did not look up from his phone. He did, however, reach out and take a sip of his own feather-free tea, and lean back in his chair a bit more.
"H-hey! You're just gonna brush this off?"
"Yes." Miles made a motion with one of his wings, and a few more feathers fell out, drifting lazily to the ground. He finally looked away from his phone and stared at them sitting forlornly on the tile. "I'm only molting."
"You're only doing what?"
Miles gave him a quizzical look. "Molting. Shedding feathers Did you not know about that?"
"I thought... I thought that was something bugs do with their exoskeleton?"
"Ngooh..." Miles buried his head in his hands, and sighed a long-suffering, weary sigh. One Google search and a read through Wikipedia later, Phoenix was finally educated on the topic of annual human wing molting, which he'd somehow never heard about before. It apparently happened once a year, took around a week, and was rather unpleasant. Seeing as he'd only been with Miles for six months, he hadn't learned that much about winged human biology, and he also hadn't been around to experience a molt. Although, he know knew why Miles had taken a week off of work every year since he'd known him.
"So like, you're molting now? Like, the feathers are going to mostly come out and then there's gonna be new ones?"
"Uh, yes, that is what molting means."
"And it's not fun?"
"Not fun? That's a severe understatement," Miles scoffed. He gave his wings a shake, and more feathers fell out. "For now, I'll be fine, but tomorrow I'll go down hard. I always do."
"... 'go down hard'? What is going to happen to you?"
"Well, molting takes a lot of energy. It makes me into quite the... useless person. It's also unbearably itchy and painful at times."
"Why have you never told me about this? Why have I never even heard of this before, actually? It sounds... awful, honestly. Like, I know winged people don't make up a huge portion of the population, but you'd think..."
"Well, it's just a fact of life for me. I'm quite used to it; it doesn't seem odd to me, and I don't feel like it's something I want to draw attention to. Most other winged people feel the same way."
"Okay... well, I'll try my best to help you out, I guess. I don't know what you're going through, but I'll be here, you know? Like, if you want food, I'll bring you something? I don't really know what your needs are, but..."
"Food would be nice. The necessities, basically. Some extra blankets so I can make myself a nest, as well."
"Alright! I'll make sure my boyfriend is as comfortable as can be!"
--
Reason #2:
Miles wakes me up in the middle of the night to scratch them for him.
--
"Phoenix. Phoenix, wake up."
Phoenix opened his eyes to find Miles staring at him, face twisted in discomfort. His wings were fully spread out behind him, primaries splayed far apart, which was a sight he often didn't get to see.
"Huh...? It's..." Phoenix glanced at their bedside clock; it was 2:37. "Really early, what do you... what do you need...?"
"Please help me scratch my wings."
Only an hour later was Phoenix finally allowed to go back to sleep, after their wastebasket was full of feathers. When he woke up, the process repeated.
"Uh, was this one supposed to come out?" he asked, holding up a long, shiny primary.
"Yes, whatever falls out when you scratch is supposed to come out."
"Alright..." Phoenix scratched for a few more minutes in silence. He was acutely aware of the fact that he had to be out the door in twenty minutes and he hadn't eaten breakfast nor gotten dressed yet. He could hear Trucy bustling around, getting herself ready for school, and that only served to set him more on edge.
"I need to go to work, you know. Apollo and Athena need me. They don't have the keys to the office."
"You won't be late, and I promise you'll be able to let them in on time."
Phoenix was thirty minutes late, and he found a very grumpy Apollo and a very bored Athena loitering outside. Both of them shot him an accusatory glance as he shuffled up, and he tried not to look them in the eye as he unlocked the Agency.
"What took you so long?" Athena asked, trying to sound conversational, but the annoyance in her tone was obvious.
"You said you'd get us keys! Hey dummy, where are they?" Widget chirped.
"Widget!" she hissed, covering him with her hands. Apollo barked out a laugh.
"I'm sorry guys, really sorry... uh, I slept in kind of, sorry..."
"You're lying." Apollo said in perfect deadpan, and then stepped into the office.
Unfortunately, Phoenix hadn't made his relationship with Miles public to anymore, so he hoped they wouldn't try to force the truth out of him, or he'd have to tell them. For the next minute while Phoenix brewed up some coffee, they were both silent, and he felt himself relax slightly. He appeared to be in the clear-
"Why are there feathers stuck to your ass?"
Damnit.
--
Reason #3
Feathers. Everywhere. Help.
--
Phoenix pushed the door to his home open, and immediately gasped. There were feathers strewn all over the place, making a trail from the open door of their bedroom to the kitchen. It was a mess.
"Miles?! Where are you, and why did you-Miles!" As he stepped into the house more, he finally got a good look into the kitchen, and found his boyfriend laying on the ground, although he was just a a heap of gray with only his head exposed. He rushed over, wondering what was wrong-
He snored. The audacity of this man, making him get all worried when he had just fallen asleep on the floor. Phoenix bent down, reaching past his wings and giving him a firm shake on the shoulder.
"Oh... good morning..." Miles groaned, and looked up at him with bleary eyes. He looked exhausted; he had been right when he'd said he went down hard, because he hadn't been like this in the morning, and certainly not yesterday.
"It's 5 PM, Miles. How long have you been laying here?"
He blinked a few times. "I... I'm not certain.. I'm hungry, though."
"Alright, let me take you back to bed and I'll make you some soup or something." Phoenix slid his arms under his boyfriend and hefted him up, carrying him bridal style. Here he was, famed defense attorney, carrying the chief prosecutor of the LA area like a baby while he grumbled about being itchy. What a life he lived.
He almost slipped on feathers twice, and when he made it to the room, they were everywhere as well. Miles seemed to have built himself some sort of weird nest, judging by the heap of comforters and pillows that now covered their mattress, and Phoenix briefly wondered if he'd be sleeping on the floor that evening. He dumped him unceremoniously onto the bed, and then tried to pick up some of the feathers; really, how many feathers could one man possess? They were everywhere, and his wings barely looked thinned at all. They were a bit raggedy, yes, but still voluminous.
He went and got a trash bag after realizing their little wastebasket wouldn't be able to handle the job, and managed to get the room mostly cleaned up. It was a futile exercise, though, since Miles gave his wings a hard shake right after he finished and a little flurry of fuzz and coverts fell all over the place. Phoenix sighed and went to go make soup.
--
Reason #4:
Molting apparently makes you really hungry, and we're out of instant ramen now. And all of the snacks. I was going to eat those Cheese-Its, Miles.
--
Getting home from work the next day, Phoenix was hopeful; Miles had woken him up in the middle of the night again--he had been allowed to sleep in the bed, to his surprise--which he didn't appreciate, but in the morning, he'd been able to leave on time, so hopefully, he'd recovered his senses a bit.
He had not recovered his senses.
When he went into the house, he went to their room first, and found him hunched under the covers, sound asleep, which was comforting to see, but when he went back out to start cooking dinner, he found six empty packets of instant ramen scattered around the kitchen along with every pot they owned, and he felt his soul leave his body.
The cabinet had been ransacked as well, and all of the good snacks had been eaten. He supposed molting really did drain one's energy, if it was able to make a person who normally had a small appetite eat as much as a large family.
Phoenix started on the dreary task that was washing the dishes and cleaning up his boyfriend's mess, and the cooked up some boxed macaroni for his daughter and himself. She emerged from her room when she heard the stove beep, looking disgruntled.
"Papa, are you making more-oh, Daddy! Did you see that Papa ate all the ramen? You didn't tell me he was molting, but I saw all the feathers, so I realized that had to be it. He also didn't go to work. And he ate all of the-"
"Hey, who taught you about molting? I didn't even know..." he muttered, and then spooned the completed macaroni into two bowls. There was a portion left over, although if Miles decided to come out of his lair, it probably wouldn't be there for much longer.
"One of my friends at school is winged! She was out for a week and I asked her about it, and she explained! It seems really awful... Papa looks really tired and sick..."
"He'll be alright, don't worry Truce." Phoenix gave her back a comforting pat and then served her the macaroni, which the two of them ate in silence. When they finished, dishes were stuck in the dishwasher, and then Phoenix retreated to his room, ready to turn in early.
Miles was awake, sitting up, and he stared at Phoenix with hooded eyes while he got ready for bed. His wings were partially unfolded, and he periodically gave them a hard shake, shaking loose new feathers and stirring the ones that had collected in drifts and piles around him. His wings were now visibly thinned, and like Trucy had said, it made him look sickly.
"How're you feeling?" Phoenix asked, sliding an old band t-shirt on and then sitting on the end of the bed, waiting for permission to crawl into the nest.
"Bad." Miles was pretty taciturn when he felt unwell, and he was obviously unwell. Phoenix wasn't expecting to get much out of him in terms of conversation.
"Can I sleep in the bed with you?"
"Yes." he furled his wings, groaning a bit, as if the action pained him. He awkwardly laid down, and Phoenix slid into bed, giving him a gentle smile before closing eyes.
--
Reason #5:
When I wake up they're always in my face.
--
Phoenix had a feather in his mouth for the second time in a week, and that was two times too many. He removed it, and then pushed his newfound blanket, his boyfriend's right wing, off of himself. He heard him shift and make a nonsensical little whining sound, and then strong arms wrapped around his waist.
"I can't stay, babe, you know I want to. I've got work."
"Mmmhmm..." he nodded sleepily, but didn't move. Phoenix was struck with a sudden surge of affection, seeing him like this; he was the only person Miles trusted enough to act like this around, besides their daughter. This was the Miles Edgeworth only they knew, the soft, loving man who was also very clingy when he wasn't feeling well. While Phoenix would've loved to stay with him in bed all day, he had to go to work.
"Come on, let go." He gave him a gentle nudge.
"It would be detrimental to my health if you left... I will perish without you... my love..."
"Stop waxing poetic, I'm going to work, not off to war."
Miles mumbled something about being a fallen angel, but finally let his arms slide off and then disappeared under the comforter. He knew he would be under there, preening himself to get all his old feathers out, thinning wings wrapped around himself along with the duvet. He honestly felt bad to leave him alone while he was so prone, but he was a grown man. He could take care of himself, even if he was tired and he couldn't fly.
--
Reason #6:
They take so much care to maintain.
--
Thankfully, Miles was now through the worst of his molt, and was no longer moping around shedding feathers left and right. However, his pin feathers were now coming in, and that was apparently a big deal, because Phoenix had to spend the two hours after dinner helping him wash his wings.
"Now that the feathers are here, it's okay to clean them, and they need to be clean and orderly to grow in right," Miles explained as Phoenix gently lathered soap onto his secondaries. This had to be one of the most mind-numbing yet terrifying jobs Phoenix had ever done; if he messed up, he could damage Miles's feathers and affect his flying ability until the next time he molted, and yet, individual cleaning each feather was boring.
"Yeah... your wings are beautiful but annoying." His wings really were beautiful; his point still stood. He just knew that they were an absolute pain to maintain now. He knew that, when he'd seen him back in court, dappled gray feathers folded neatly behind him, he'd think it was worth it, though. When he watched Miles get ready to fly each day, flexing his powerful muscles and leaping out the flight door of their home, catching the breeze and soaring off to work, he'd think it was worth it. When Miles would wrap Trucy and him in the soft comfort of his feathers as they watched television, he'd think it was worth it. He loved Miles, and he loved every part of him, even the part he was spending his evening cleaning.
Then, Miles splashed him with water from the tub, and he got so startled he fell in. He was ready to disregard his previous mental monologue.
--
Reason #7:
They make Miles look way too attractive and it isn't fair.
--
"So, you're done molting?" Phoenix asked, as he watched Miles get ready for the day. His wings still looked a bit thin in places, but they weren't ragged (all thanks to Phoenix's hard work washing them every day), and he had assured Phoenix that he could now fly perfectly fine.
"Yes, mostly. The pin feathers are still coming in, but for the most part, I've finished."
"Do you feel better?"
"Do I look better?" Miles gestured to himself, fully dressed in his chief prosecutor's garb with his hair perfectly styled as usual. He still had bags under his eyes--he hadn't slept well the last week, as Phoenix knew quite well--but he mostly fit his usual image. And he was so, so attractive anyway, because he was Miles Edgeworth and Miles Edgeworth was too hot for his own good.
"I mean, yeah... I'm just making sure..."
"I'm fine. Thank you for the concern, though. I've never had anybody be so kind to me during a molt before, it was always just me by myself... it feels nice to have you and Trucy here." Miles smiled at him, that small, gentle smile that made Phoenix's heart flutter and his knees get weak, and he moved forward to embrace him. Their lips met in the softest kiss they'd had in a while, and they stayed like that for a while, enjoying the sensation, the feeling of closeness.
Miles's wings brushed his back, and Phoenix knew that, at the end of the day, his wings weren't lame for any reason. They were perfect and that was because they were his.