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It’s moments like this one, Phoenix thinks to himself, gazing at Miles from across the courtroom. His husband— husband, he’s my husband— regards a freshly printed document critically, eyes carefully scanning each word. Phoenix can almost hear the cogs turning in the mans head. It’s written in the hard set of his brow, the intensity of his steel gaze, which peers through rectangular glasses that sit perfectly on the bridge of his nose.
Focus. That’s the word that comes to mind, but it’s merely an observation of Miles, not a piece of advice Phoenix cares to heed at the moment (even though he should).
He’s beautiful like this, Phoenix decides, silently.
He’s always beautiful, his mind supplies immediately after.
The man in question looks up from his papers, making eye contact that Phoenix was not ready for. The prosecutor gives him a knowing look, with the faintest hint of a smile, and just barely tips his head to the side in a faint motion of “Look”.
Phoenix looks, and then startles when he realizes the first witness has been called to the stand. He scrambles to get the last of his things in order, and then flushes slightly when he hears a familiar chuckle from the other side of the room. He feels himself smile, before his gaze hardens, determined.
It’s moments like this one, Miles thinks, sitting across from Phoenix at their usual spot. They often convene here to discuss over lunch what they know, as well as a plan for what to look for and where to look once they split ways. The employees know them fairly well, as do a few regulars.
Phoenix sits, bagel in one hand, pen in the other, idly taking bites here and there while he scribbles down his usual haphazard notes in the wide margins of a transcript of that day’s proceedings. Miles stares, unabashedly, chin propped on one hand.
I love him.
He notices a little smear of the bagel spread along the line of Phoenix’s top lip. Rather than point it out, he instead sighs (he intended it to sound somewhat exasperated, but instead it came out rather fond) and pulls a napkin from the dispenser. He doesn’t change his relaxed position, his chin still resting upon the palm of his hand, as he reaches over and wipes the daub away.
Phoenix is confused by the contact at first, brows pinching in the ghost of a question as he looks up from his work, before his eyes widen and he becomes sheepish. He sets his half-eaten bagel down, and his hand comes up, redundantly, to swipe at his already clean mouth.
He’s an idiot. And I love him.
Miles shakes his head and chuckles softly. He takes his husband’s hand gingerly and pulls it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the backs of his fingers (specifically the gold band wrapped around one) before allowing their hands to fall to rest atop the table. He hears Phoenix sigh in adoration.
“Thank you.”
“Mmm. You’re lucky you didn’t get any on your suit.”
Phoenix grins, moving his hand so he can interlace their fingers. “Yeah. I am lucky.”
Miles enjoys the familiar way in which his heart soars. Every time.
It’s moments like this, Phoenix thinks, pulling on a t-shirt and brushing his damp hair back with his hand. Their bedroom at home is quiet. Miles said he would get some extra work in before bed, but he can feel that the prosecutor’s eyes are not on the case file, but on his back. Phoenix turns around to confirm his suspicions. He grins.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi,” Miles replies, much more soft. The case file is still in his hand, but when Phoenix takes a good look he can tell he hasn’t flipped the page since he entered the room.
“Something got your attention?” He teases.
“You may be right,” Miles’ cheeks flush, just a little, but he doesn’t look away.
“What? I thought I was Edgeworth, now.” Phoenix can’t help the smile on his face. He can tell, by the way that Miles’ lips press into a flat line, that the other man is trying not to indulge. “Come on,” Phoenix scoffs, walking toward the bed. “That was pretty go-“
He trips, over practically nothing, and cries out before he’s able to catch his balance again. He huffs out a sigh, both of relief and slight irritation, and then he is momentarily frozen when he hears Miles laugh.
It’s a beautiful sound. He’s heard it, to his delight, a lot more often since they first moved in together, but it’s still a rather rare thing. Miles’s laugh starts out in small giggles, hiding his smile behind a relaxed hand. And then, on especially rare occasions, his hand falls away and his little chuckles open up into free, brazen laughter, sometimes so intense that his hands grasp at his abdomen as he tries in vain to catch his breath.
Like now.
”Aw— C’mon! It wasn’t that funny!” Phoenix says as he settles on the bed, but even he can’t stop himself from laughing with Miles. He takes the case file from his husband’s hands, and sets it down on the bedside table, before pulling the man into his arms. He’s much calmer, but his shoulders still shake with joy, and Phoenix can hear that his breaths are huffed.
Miles is still smiling when Phoenix captures his lips in a chaste kiss. He feels warm, enveloped in the attorney’s arms, he feels his racing heart slow. Phoenix pulls away, only to press more kisses all over Miles’ face— his cheeks, his forehead, his temple, the tip of his nose, his chin, the line of his jaw. Miles begins to laugh again as he pulls the blankets up over them. He feels Phoenix’s lips curl up into a smile against his face.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You love it.”
“I do,” Miles breathes, still chuckling. “I really do. I love you.”
“I love you!” Phoenix replies, with twice the enthusiasm (as if it was a competition) and just as much laughter in his voice.
It takes them a while to settle. Phoenix shifts to lay on his back, and Miles rests half on top of him, head resting on his shoulder. The attorney cards his fingers through Miles’ hair, and Miles traces absentminded shapes over Phoenix’s heart with his fingertips.
Moments like this one.
...It’s every moment, isn’t it?