Work Text:
A year has passed, in what feels like only a few beats of a metronome. The horrible, bloody end of the trial of Terry Fawles had scarred Miles more than he cared to admit.
But he had won. …Right? With the defendant already on death row, with so much information and evidence all in Miles’s favor—
A flash of that attorney, Mia Fey, surfaces and he doesn't feel so sure. That look of devastation had been branded on the back of his eyelids.
It's been a year, he reminds himself; A year and a few day.. He’s still losing sleep over it. That and.. something else, now. What he, for a long time, will believe to have been the conclusion of those bitter events; Dahlia Hawthorne’s attempted murder of Phoenix Wright.
He’d been keeping tabs on the people involved with the case a year ago.
A Von Karma must leave no loose ends.
But this, this might be all too much for him. Even with his guarded heart.
He couldn't bring himself to face Phoenix that night, when he’d heard about the trial and his subsequent admission to the hospital. He’d sent flowers. Anonymously, of course.
And it wasn't enough for Miles.
Something he remembers, from before his world became only darkness.. That a get-well gift is more effective when hand delivered. Of course, he knows that makes little to no logical sense.
Yet it is that compulsion that drove him here tonight, and walked him up the stairs to this apartment.
He feels almost nauseous, and there's a bitter taste growing in the back of his throat. He tries– No, he has to lock so much out of his mind, he can't stop running now.
Miles thinks he should leave. What is he really doing here? He can't let himself answer.
His heart’s beating fast like a rabbit’s. When he imagines Wright opening the door, he doesn't know what could happen. If he were met with disdain or anger, that he could accept wholeheartedly. But if he weren't met with that harsh cold he's grown used to– Could he keep from shattering? If met with kindness? With—
His vision grows blurry with pinprick tears, and it feels like his ears are ringing so loud he’ll explode.
No, no he can’t do this.
He looks down at the tea tray in his hands, put together so beautifully and carried lovingly to this apartment. Part of him wants to drop it. Let it clatter to the ground, see the set break into a million pieces the way he wants to right now.
He has to stop this nonsense immediately. What’s gotten into him? He should just go.. He really should…
The door creaks open.
“M.. Miles..?”
Miles swears he hears his own heart crack. His chest feels so tight, as if he can't breathe. He blinks away the few tears that had begun to form, praying to anyone or thing that would listen that Phoenix hadn't noticed; Praying he wouldn't mention it if he had.
When he really looks at Phoenix, into his eyes, something else starts plucking his heartstrings. Phoenix looks so sick, so sad and exhausted.
“Wright,” no, that isn't fair, it's been so long. It's been too long and he looks so sad.. “Phoenix. It's been.. A while.. And I’m not one for pleasantries, but I heard, uhrm,” Miles wonders why he's stumbling over his words so horribly. His face feels hot. There's no way Phoenix could have given him his cold so fast, so why is he the one feeling ill?
“I heard about what happened to you. I needed to make sure for myself that you were alright.”
Phoenix looks on the verge of tears, and he feels it, too. After how many years, after the worst week of his life so far; Why is Miles at his doorstep? He wants to know how Miles found him, why he chose to come now, why would he even care, why he never once wrote back, why he– Why–
He looks down at the tray in Miles’s hands, so overwhelmed he can't bear to make eye contact.
“You..” Phoenix feels his voice wavering, so he stops. He puts his hands over Miles’s wrists, gently holding on and squeezing like he's in a dream; Like one of them will dissipate into mist. He pulls Miles over the threshold of the doorway, hardly stepping back himself. They'd be pressed together if not for the tray.
“It's really you, Miles?”
His voice is hardly a whisper. Yet he knows Miles heard.
“..Yes.” Miles feels like a disconnected phone. Like he's floating where his body stands, not in it. Worst of all, he feels so, so small. Guilt crushes and compacts him with every breath.
It would have been better for Phoenix if he hadn't come.
Against all his thoughts, he doesn't turn and run. Since he’s here, he has to see it through.
“Please,” he cringes when his own voice cracks, and changes what he was about to say, “this is for you, if you’ll have it..?” He half-gestures with the tea tray in his hands.
“Only if you'll stay.. I– I know you’re a busy person. Just stay for a little while.. Please. ” Phoenix feels dazed, trying to ignore that the words tumbling out of his mouth make his heart hurt. He's only glad his voice isn't trembling as much as his hands are.
Miles can't refuse him. Even with darkness clinging to him like a second skin. He can't say no to the man he promised himself he’d never cross paths with. He feels weak.
“Of course. I wouldn't bring a complicated gift only to make you put it together,” Miles shrugs, trying to keep cool, “Besides.. You’re still unwell. It would be discourteous of me to not prepare this for you.” What’s he saying? He can't stop himself. He thinks he must be digging his own grave– Though he knows he didn't say anything disingenuous.
Phoenix feels tears roll down his cheeks, he turns his head, stares intently at the wallpaper. “Come on in..” He steps to the side, ushering Miles further inside the apartment so he can close and lock the door. It takes him a second to turn back to Miles afterward, the lump in his throat’s only feeling more prominent. His head’s swimming.
Miles looks around the apartment. There isn't much to take in, most of the space is open. Conveniently, the kitchenette is just after the entrance, and he sets the tray down on an open space of countertop. He unbuttons his adorned Von Karma jacket, takes it off, and neatly folds it in half over his arm.
He turns back to Phoenix at almost the same moment Phoenix turns to him. They don't mean to catch each other's glance, but they do.
They both internally remark how heart-wrenched the other looks. Phoenix can't hold back his tears anymore. He’s been so stressed, so sick, and now top of everything else; What is he supposed to do with Miles? He’s not ready for this. He lifts his hands to cover his face, hunching forward so he's peering down at the ground between his fingers.
Oh, god, how he wants to just cry quietly if he’s going to cry at all. But he hears himself choke on a sob before it manages to escape anyway. More follow, and he sounds so broken.
Miles goes to him, without thinking, without hesitation. He won't understand why for a long time.
Once he’s within arm's reach, he outstretches his hands to take hold of Phoenix’s shoulders. Before either can get another word out, he pulls Phoenix into a tight embrace. He doesn't even pay attention to the fact he’s dropped his precious jacket.
He feels Phoenix tense up, trembling, but then arms are wrapped back around him, too.
It dawns on Miles that he’s never been held like this before. He feels like an animal caught in a snare, but he only holds on tighter. Maybe he wants to be completely enveloped. Would that be so wrong?
It's not the time to think about that.
Phoenix’s entire body feels on the verge of collapse. His head already hurts from crying, but he can't stop. He leans into Miles without realizing, now holding on so tightly it almost hurts them both. He buries his face into where Miles’s neck and shoulder meet, tears pouring onto his white button up and his jabot.
Miles adjusts his footing so it's easier to help hold Phoenix up. He just stands there for a few moments, unsure how he could help.
This is his fault, isn’t it?
Cautiously, gently, he traces small circles on Phoenix’s back with his hand. He isn't quite sure how to be soothing. He would swallow his pride and swear to anyone or thing that he's trying. While his mind races, his other hand finds itself nestled in Phoenix’s hair. It's tousled, not in its usual spikes, and it's surprisingly soft. He tucks a strand behind Phoenix's ear before twirling another between two fingers. He doesn't realize it’s helping; He’s trying to scramble for words.
Phoenix cries for what seems like ages. He cries and he cries harder every time he thinks about who's holding him. Everything's been spun on its head, in mere minutes. He just can’t handle this. His legs start feeling numb, before deciding they can no longer carry him. All he wants is to sink into Miles. No more pain, no more heartbreak, just their arms woven around each other like they've always been meant to hold each other. To stay like that forever. He’s so out of it he doesn't realize he hasn't gotten his legs back out under him until he hears a soft, strained noise.
“Oh- I’m s-so–,” as he regains his footing, he pulls back just enough to look at Miles’s face. And he’s never seen Miles look like that. His brows are so knit in worry Phoenix is afraid they'll stick that way.
“Wright.. Why don't we just sit down?” Though Miles isn't only suggesting. He feels so cold now that they aren't holding each other. He helps Phoenix to the couch in the part of the open room that he assumes is sanctioned as the living room. Their hands fit together so nicely that it’s like a part of himself is missing when he lets go.
What’s gotten into him?
When they sit together, Miles stays turned to look at Phoenix. His heart’s so wrenched. What can he do? Words, all he's ever had, are failing him. He bundles Phoenix up in his arms again, a little more awkwardly this time.
All Phoenix can do in return is cling to Miles like his life depends on it. He starts crying again, pain lighting in his stomach and his chest when he heaves with a sob. He curses himself inside, for how weak and childish he is. His muscles get so tense it's a real struggle to breathe between his sobs, and his heart beats so hard he thinks it'll pop. His cries start getting breathier and strained.
He coughs, pulling back to raise a hand up over his mouth as quickly as he can. He knows he sees his hand in front of his face, the fabric of Miles’s shirt beyond, but it feels like he can't see.
The little red flecks on his hand go unnoticed by him, caught in his own pain and panic; Preoccupied by his coughing fit. But it doesn't remain unnoticed by Miles.
“Wright..? Wright?” Miles places his hands on Phoenix’s shoulders, he feels panic rise in his own chest like a crescendo.
“Phoenix, take a deep breath, say something,” his voice wobbles, as if his vocal chords were out of tune.
“Please.” Miles isn’t someone who begs; Yet his voice is such a desperate plea. He watches Phoenix cough, his usual ick towards germs and contaminants– his own subpar immune system– now pushed to the recesses of his mind. All he wants is for Phoenix to be alright. His hands rise to Phoenix’s cheeks, he’s burning up.
“It’s okay,” Phoenix can’t look at him. He closes his eyes, hot tears rolling down over his cheeks, over Miles’s hands. He tries to compose himself, tries and fails. His breathing is ragged, and the pain is a constricting barbed wire.
Something in Miles’s guarded heart really does break, then. He remembers their friendship, albeit so brief and shadowed by trauma. How Phoenix wore his heart on his sleeve, how he couldn't cover his feelings to save his life. That genuinity, that honest bond and heart.. Maybe it was childish. Miles doesn't care. He’d walk through hell to bring it back to Phoenix now. He doesn't understand why.
There’s plenty of things that Phoenix can't hide right now, sure– Miles still feels like he's on a raft on open waters, shadows looming underneath.
That raft won't capsize yet, and those shadows won't be breached by light for years.
Phoenix finds grounding when his coughing stops interrupting the wails being pulled from his chest. He finds it the moment he puts a hand over Miles’s wrist, actually. As if Miles could heal him, pick up all his pieces and make him– No. No, he doesn't want to think about such a thing.
The pain doesn't subside, but he manages to take a real, deep breath. He opens his eyes, and his heart skips a beat before sinking. “Oh,” it's his turn for his brows to knit together in worry, “Miles..”
He’d heard so much about Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth, none of it pleasant. Not that he didn't feel some sort of bias. After years of unreturned correspondence, complete radio silence.. And here Miles is, crying. It should make him angry, he wants to be. He doesn't have it in his heart.
“Phoenix.. I–” Miles removes his jabot with a hand, deciding to repurpose it as a handkerchief for the time being. He’s crying, he hates it so much– But that's not his main concern. He wipes the corners of Phoenix’s mouth, spit and blood dampening the fabric. His vision is fuzzy from the tears, he tries so hard to pretend neither of them know he's crying. Because that's not why he's here. He can’t be so selfish like this.
“Do you need me to bring you back to the hospital?” He tries to refocus while he's asking, but his trembling hands betray him.
Phoenix is acutely aware of Miles wiping his face. He wipes his own bloodied hand on the jabot, leaving it steadied there so he can just barely touch Miles’s fingertips with his own over the fabric.
“No, the doctors said, uhm,” he draws a blank for a second, instinctively moving his other hand to start wiping Miles’s tears. “Because of how much I’ve been coughing, uh, the irritation from that and,” he looks sheepish, “the glass.. As long as it's only a little bit, I’m okay. I have another check-up in a few days.” He skips a few details that he’d rather forget.
Miles opens his mouth with a rebuttal, but nothing comes out. He realizes that's all the information Phoenix is going to give him about that in particular. He’ll just have to be content with the answer. It's enough to give him a little relief, that, at least, he’ll admit. He flushes red at the touch and tries to blink his tears away; Unaware of how Phoenix is watching his lashes bat like it's the most incredible thing he's ever seen.
“What could I do to help you, then?” He’s so desperate to do just one good thing. One thing in his terrible, miserable life that truly helped someone besides him. He feels selfish enough to make himself sick.
Phoenix can see the darkness looming in Miles. He has to save him. He leans in close, they're both teary-eyed and trembling. He holds Miles’s face in his hands, so gently.
“Just stay with me.” He sounds so sincere that Miles could burst at the seams.
Miles nods, a whole galaxy of stars twinkling in his eyes. He looks so dazed that he actually seems his age for once. It isn't always such a horrible thing to be young and inexperienced.
They stare at each other. There's so much they both want to know; Neither can ask. The truth is so much further out of reach than they could begin to imagine.
Miles tells himself that when the time is right, he’ll share everything with Phoenix. When he's ready. That certainly isn't now.
He doesn't want to think. Neither of them do.
They need each other like oxygen; Breathless from their tireless efforts to pack away the weight of living.
Miles puts his hands over Phoenix's, he laces their fingers together, and he kisses him. He feels wide awake, even though he hadn’t been sleeping. Sparks fly, so bright and so brilliant it could be a hundred bolts of lightning. He’s never felt so aware of his heartbeat, the blood flowing through his veins, or the ache deep in his lungs.
And Phoenix feels much the same. His eyes flutter close, he leans into Miles again. The kiss is giving him a contact high, somehow. He feels like rapids, the rush and roar pulling him closer and closer to the endless expanse of love waiting for him; Beneath Miles’s skin, if he could just break the surface tension.
This kiss is an invocation.
Please love me, please save me, please let me save you–
Miles feels himself cry again, they're both leaning against each other– So, so close together. He’s never felt this way. It threatens to shatter him.
He only breaks their contact to draw in ragged breaths before diving in to kiss Phoenix again. He doesn't know it, but this is all he's ever really wanted.
When they're both breathless enough to ease off their kissing, they stay so close they can feel each other breathe. Miles cradles Phoenix in his arms, Phoenix half on his lap. When Miles realizes he’s still crying; He also realizes it doesn't feel so bad, after all.
Phoenix continues to cup Miles’s face, staring with eyes like the first streaks of sun after a terrible storm. He pours out his love by wiping Miles’s tears, peppering kisses all over his face; Everywhere he can.
This is all he wants. This is what will save them.
He bats his lashes to give Miles butterfly kisses, under his tired, tired eyes.
Miles really relaxes, and he feels Phoenix relax, too. He even starts smiling, genuinely. So wide it hurts his cheeks. When he receives the soft, sweet butterfly kisses; He laughs, it sounds so warm, like a hearth in winter. Like home.
There’s so much in his head and his heart he can’t face. But right now, right now he thinks he could take on the whole world– As long as Phoenix held his hand.
“I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me."