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Phoenix Wright stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. It’s 11 AM and the results of a lazy Sunday morning means that Phoenix has only just now put himself together for the day. He feels like he should maybe be embarrassed about that, a forty-two year old man still lazing about at all hours of the morning, but hey – he’s been working hard, the day is perfectly gray and rainy, and his bed and husband in it were warm and comfortable. Phoenix toys with the idea of trying to drag Miles back to bed for another two to twenty-four hours when his gaze finally rests on the part of his appearance he’s been trying so hard to ignore, and he lets out a dramatic groan.
Phoenix Wright is going gray. He’s had the stray gray hair pop up from time to time, a darker shade that isn’t typically noticeable against his dark hair. Even when they do stand out, people are usually too intrigued by his spikes to notice any out of the ordinary color. But this is undeniable. The hair at Phoenix’s temples is sporting a light silvery gray, the darker base giving it a salt-and-pepper look. It’s right up front, right at his face where everyone can see when they’re talking to him, not placed somewhere that the spikes can easily detract from it.
“That’s it, I can’t deny it anymore,” Phoenix shouts in the general direction of the kitchen as he steps out of the bathroom. “Miles – I’m old. You’re married to a decrepit old man.”
Phoenix receives a halfhearted hum of acknowledgement as he shuffles into the kitchen to see his husband, Miles Edgeworth, seated at the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee in one hand while the other tuns the pages of the morning paper.
Phoenix can’t stifle a grin and an eye roll at the sight. The newspaper. And I’m the one who thinks I’m old.
Miles has already poured Phoenix a cup of coffee and it sits on the counter to Miles’ right, inviting Phoenix to take the seat next to his husband and gently bully him for his newspaper habits. The mug is Phoenix’s favorite. It started as a ‘World’s Best Boss’ mug, a gift from Athena that Phoenix cried openly and shamelessly when he received. Over time with the help of various sharpies, it had gained many additions claiming Phoenix as the world’s best something or other. ‘Daddy!!!’ was courtesy of Trucy, ‘Dadboss’ was from Apollo, which Phoenix takes to be as close of an admission as he’s ever going to get that Apollo did, in fact, call him ‘Dad’ that one time. ‘Defense Lawyer’ was added by Phoenix himself, because, hey, you gotta appreciate yourself sometimes. ‘Husband’ is written in small, neat script, having made its way onto the mug early one morning when Miles had to take off to the airport before Phoenix woke up. Phoenix had come downstairs a few hours later to the mug sitting next to the coffee machine with a small note proclaiming, “I miss you already,” leaving Phoenix to stand in the kitchen, grinning like an idiot and wondering how and when he got so lucky.
Rather than taking his seat, Phoenix opts to squeeze himself between the empty chair and the one containing Miles. Phoenix picks up his mug with one hand and takes a sip before continuing his lament.
“Miles, I’m old. I am old and falling to pieces and you are ignoring me in my anguish.”
Miles sighs. He sets his paper down and takes one more sip from his coffee before setting his mug down and turning his gaze on Phoenix.
Phoenix almost misses Miles’ next words because he’s too busy studying his husband’s face. He’s spent all morning looking at it. All week. All month. At this point, he’s spent years looking at it after thinking bout it for his entire life. But he still can’t quite get enough. Right now, Phoenix is getting a look that he gets far too often: Miles glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose so he can look at Phoenix over the tops, one eyebrow raised, brows knitting together just enough to portray mild exasperation but not full on irritation or contempt. The twitch at the corner of Miles’ mouth is the only thing that betrays that he’s appreciating the view just as much as Phoenix is.
So what if Phoenix is a nuisance on purpose from time to time just to get this look? He likes it.
“What seems to be the source of your anguish today, my dear?” Miles asks.
Phoenix leans forward to plant a kiss on Miles’ forehead, just above that spot where his brows knit. He pulls back and smiles at his husband as he responds.
“If you will refer to my previous statements, I am old, I am decrepit, and I am falling apart,” Phoenix sets his own mug down and finally sits down, turning in his chair and scooting it closer ‘til his knee touches Miles’.
“Mm,” Miles begins. “Objection. I believe that third statement was that you are ‘falling to pieces’, not that you are falling apart.”
“Guilty as charged,” Phoenix shrugs and leans his side against the chair’s back, dangling his left arm over it. “It’s hard to remember everything, with the anguish and all.”
“Of course,” Miles responds. “Now what has you thinking you’re old?”
Phoenix gestures dramatically at his face with his right hand. “Just look at me!”
“Yes,” Miles blinks. “You look like you usually do.”
“You wound me,” Phoenix clutches at his heart dramatically before gesturing the hair at his temple. “Look at this.”
Miles gently takes Phoenix’s chin in one hand, pushes his glasses up with the other, and carefully turns Phoenix’s face from one side to the other as he carefully examines the hair framing Phoenix’s face.
You would think being married to someone for years would make it so being seen by them is nothing new. It’s not like his face is something Miles hasn’t seen hundreds upon thousands of times. But something about being subjected to Miles’ careful, quiet scrutiny has made Phoenix go frozen and for whatever reason he hopes that Miles can’t feel how rapid his heartbeat is with his fingers so close to Phoenix’s pulse.
“Mm.. yes,” Miles sighs, turning Phoenix’s head one last time. “You are going quite gray.” Miles releases Phoenix’s face and grabs his mug for another sip of coffee, watching Phoenix the entire time over the rims of glasses that have slid down his nose once again.
“Imagine that,” Miles continues. “Gray hair. What an absolute travesty.”
“I –,” Phoenix stammers. “Miles Edgeworth! Is that sarcasm?”
“No, of course not,” Miles answers, setting his mug down once again. “I simply can’t imagine what you must be going through, having gray hair and all. No one should have to live like that.”
“That absolutely is sarcasm. I can’t believe – wait, Miles, no!” The realization strikes Phoenix. “That’s not what I mean!”
Miles raises an eyebrow. “And what is it that you do mean?”
Phoenix tilts his head back to look up the ceiling before answering. “It’s different. Your hair has always been gray, and it’s beautiful and I love it. MY hair has not always been gray. It is becoming gray because, as previously stated, I am old and decrepit.” Phoenix looks back to Miles to see the twitch at the corner of his mouth has grown more pronounced and is beginning to betray a small smile.
“You’re just teasing me!” Phoenix complains, leaning his whole body forward into Miles’ chest. “I can’t believe I married the meanest man in the entire world. I’m having a crisis and I’m getting bullied!”
Phoenix feels the rumble of Miles’ chest as he chuckles, reaching up to card his fingers through Phoenix’s (gray, old, decrepit) hair.
“First of all, Phoenix, I am not going to deny the fact that you are going gray and, yes, that you are growing older,” Phoenix’s weak protests are muffled as he presses his face closer into Miles. “But there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.”
Miles pushes Phoenix off of him and keeps his hands on his shoulders to hold him up. Phoenix sighs dramatically and puts on his best, most overdramatic pouty face. “Except for the fact that I’m old and wrinkly and all my hair is turning gray and oh my god I’ll probably be bald soon and-“
“- and nothing,” Miles interrupts. “All of that and more may be true. And how lucky that will be for me.”
“Lucky? What, so you can finally be the pretty one? I always knew you were out to steal my rank as the pretty husband, ever since the day we got married-”
“ Lucky ,” Miles interrupts again. “Because every little thing about you that changes is a new part of you that I get to love.”
Man. Phoenix hates it when Miles manages to leave him speechless. It doesn’t happen often. Not being able to shut up is Phoenix’s best and worst trait, depending on who you ask. He isn’t keen on having it taken from him.
But it’s pretty much impossible to be mad about it when it’s a result of a line like that .
Miles lets the silence hang between them for a moment before accepting that Phoenix doesn’t have a response to that, then continues.
“I love you very, very much, Phoenix. I love you so much that I cannot fit it all in one place. It doesn’t work for me to just love you; I love every single part of you. Every time something new pops up, that’s a new part of you I get to love in its own way. Every new tune you learn to whistle, every scar that pops up due to your foolish investigation habits, and yes, every wrinkle and every gray hair. In fact, I think I love those even more because they remind me of how lucky I am to get to spend each day with you, Phoenix, and that I’m going to be lucky enough to spend more days with and watch you grow even older.”
Somewhere in the midst of Miles’ speech he’d relinquished his grip on Phoenix’s shoulders and Phoenix had instead resorted to burying his face in his own hands. He could feel the warmth of his face and assumes the color of his face will soon hit a point where it would perfectly match Miles’ courtroom suit.
“Miles,” Phoenix groans. “What am I even supposed to say to that? You were supposed to make fun of me for being old and now I’m trying to figure out if there’s a way I can marry you for a second time. Maybe even a third.”
Phoenix lifts his face from his hands and dares to take a glance at his husband who is still turned toward him but has lifted his mug for another sip of coffee. Phoenix waits for him to lower the mug once again before carefully extracting it from his fingers and setting it gently down on the counter. He curls his hand around the back of Mile’s neck and buries his fingers in the soft (gray, perfect) hair.
“Hey,” Phoenix says as he pulls Miles towards him and leans in to meet him halfway. “I love you too. Every part.”
“I know,” Miles replies, almost a whisper as he meets Phoenix’s lips.
Phoenix doesn’t miss the way Miles brushes his thumb against Phoenix’s gray temples as he pulls him in kiss him deeper.
“So,” Phoenix pulls away from their kiss just slightly, needing to push his luck as always. “You love every part of me, huh?”
“I feel that I am going to regret this answer,” says Miles, correct as always. “But yes, Phoenix. Every part.”
“You didn’t love my flip flops,” Phoenix retorts.
“I didn’t-,” Miles’ sigh is exasperated, and he pulls back further, Phoenix’s hands falling from the back of his neck. “I didn’t like the flip flops because I felt that they represented the instability from that period of your life. I think disposing of them was representative of disposing of that part of your past.”
“So you disposed of my past in an Arby’s parking lot while I wasn’t looking?”
“Well, I certainly was not going to be ordering any Arby’s.”
“Fair enough,” Phoenix shrugs, reaching his hand up to grasp the collar of Miles’ shirt and pull him in again. “Can we kiss some more?”
Miles rolls his eyes but is more than happy to oblige Phoenix’s request.
Somewhere along the way Miles loses his glasses and Phoenix loses any sense of time and space, content for the universe to be just him and Miles making out in their kitchen. The two of them are pulled back to reality at last by the buzz of Phoenix’s phone against his thigh.
Miles stands up to refill his coffee and start rummaging through the cupboard for breakfast (lunch? brunch? oh, who cares at this point) as Phoenix unlocks his phone.
“It’s Trucy,” Phoenix says as Miles slots two pieces of toast into the toaster. “There were some changes to her tour schedule, so she’ll be able to come home for a few days before hitting the east coast leg.”
“You know she’ll make fun of you for being old,” Miles states.
“Yeah,” Phoenix grins and stands up from his chair. “I’ll just tell her how hot her Papa finds it. That should shut her up quick.”
“You underestimate her,” Miles leans into to accept another quick kiss and Phoenix walks over to his side.
“Mm, maybe,” Phoenix leans against the counter and studies Miles’ profile as he collects his toast from the toaster. “Have you looked closely at your own hair at all?” Phoenix asks, reaching up to rub a strand of Miles’ bangs between two fingers. “It’s harder to see on you, but I’m not the only one changing colors.”
Phoenix had to admit this isn’t the first time he’s noticed the changes in Miles’ hair. You wouldn’t think already gray hair would change much as one ages, but as the years have worn on, strands of white have worked their way into Miles’ hair, intermingling with the gray in a way that makes his whole head of hair appear a shade or two lighter.
Phoenix also had to admit that he found it absolutely enchanting.
“I have,” Miles answers. “I’m sorry I forgot to throw a fit about it.”
“And I’m sorry I forgot to write a speech about how absolutely beautiful it is,” Phoenix rolls his eyes.
Today, Phoenix Wright had a head of dark hair streaked with patches of gray. Ten years from now, it might all be gray. It might be gone. But none of that mattered, because ten years from now he would undoubtedly still be sharing his life with the man who loved him very, very much.