Chapter Text
The first thing Miles saw when he woke up was the man sleeping peacefully next to him. His tanned skin contrasted against the crisp white sheets, chest rising and falling rhythmically with soft inhales and exhales. Curiously enough his hair were still spiky—a bit limp, sure, its ends not quite as perky as it was last night, but still spiky bed hair nonetheless. He noted with…well, he wasn’t sure what to feel, to know the man had slept facing him.
He'd thought about asking his name a few times since last night, the curiosity like an itch asking to be scratched. He'd even been tempted to leave his name and number on the nightstand after the man had fallen asleep. But they had agreed this was a mutual one-night thing, no strings attached sort of arrangement. He’d wholeheartedly agreed at first, too, but as they conversed into the night, all casual banter and witty comebacks—he was aware of the fact that they’d formed a sort of…no, he isn’t sentimental enough to say…connection. More like a possible future prospect. The man was—well, yes, he was handsome, with that strong jaw and wide shoulders (though he had the oddest eyebrows he’d ever seen). But what drew Miles in, what made it a possible future prospect was the clever way he weaved his words, the devious mind behind it, the life in his big round eyes, and his grin, his stupid, damnable grin, all crushed eyes and cheek and pearly whites.
He grabbed his cellphone on his bedside table, willing himself to reality and lit the screen: it was 06.13 AM, with a message from Lana Skye: ‘Grade assessment meeting at 8. Don’t forget.’ Though it was still early, and although he would only need twenty minutes to wash up and get dressed, and just another twenty minutes to drive to school from the hotel, and he wasn’t supposed to be at school until eight…he willed himself off the bed. It’d be best to start this long day early. It’d also be easier to deal with this when the man’s asleep, as opposed to when he’s awake—not to mention the awkward morning after conversations…
And so fifteen minutes later he emerged from the bathroom all dry and clean, hair neatly styled. He glanced over to the bed to find the man still asleep. Feeling an odd mix of relief and apprehension, he opened his briefcase to retrieve the crisp white shirt and magenta vest he’d packed in there for emergency situations—ink splotches, surprise rains, the horrifying possibility of being in the school cafeteria in the midst of a food fight, and—well. This, he supposed. He gave the contents of his briefcase a careful once-over to make sure he didn’t leave anything behind and had everything he’d need for today’s meeting. From Apollo to Clay to Machi to Trucy—yep, he’d had the whole class’ grade report.
He clasped his briefcase closed and was ready to leave, until he saw the lone blue cellphone on the desk, next to the leather jacket hung on the chair. As he stared at it its screen suddenly came to life, showing a shortened message from one Larry Butz that read: ‘i got ur paint. u owe me …’. The battery icon was flashing red, almost at its life’s end. Miles stood there for a while, wondering…so he’s…some sort of painter. Was he painting for a living, or for fun? If it was merely his hobby, what did he do for a living? Was this Larry his friend, or his brother, maybe? What kind of guy was he really like when you knew him for more than one night? And then the itch returned, itchier than ever, asking, pleading, begging to be scratched, and before he knew it he had the phone in his hand, thinking that maybe he could leave his name and number, it can’t hurt, surely, just a simple swipe of the screen and innocent typing—
He quickly plugged the phone to the complimentary hotel charger.
He can’t. The man made it sure it was a one-night thing. He clearly wasn’t interested, he reminded himself, and that would only make things messy and awkward later on. It really wasn’t like him to be so sentimental, especially about affairs like this.
Moments later he abruptly straightened himself, and with a private, firm resolve he grabbed his briefcase, opened the door and left the room, making sure to do so quietly. The two stories down to the parking lot did not relieve his mild unease and instead left him slightly breathless.
He'd just slipped into the driver seat when his phone vibrated inside his auburn trousers. 07.02 AM.
"Miles Edgeworth speaking."
"Miles! Miles," a thud, a clatter, a few more thuds. "Miles, I need you to tell Ms. Skye I'll be late for this morning’s grade assessment meeting. Ray came over last night, drunk babbling and laughing and I had to take care of him all night since he was so noisy and such a baby and now he’s having a morning hangover and I just couldn’t leave him and the house alone—" there was a toilet flush followed by a long-suffering groan. Miles stifled a chuckle—uncle Ray was always very unnecessarily dramatic…and troublesome.
"Ms. Skye will be furious. I heard specifically state today was a very busy day for her and she will not appreciate any form of delay whatsoever." Another groan on the other end.
"Besides," he added with a smirk, "the well-respected infamous Gregory Edgeworth, principal of one of the best elementary schools of Los Angeles, late to a meeting? You should set a better example for us all, sir."
"Well then, Miles," he said, all soft and fond, and Miles could almost see the grin on his face, the crinkle in the corner of his glasses-framed eyes, "I guess it’s up to you to redeem our name, then."
He started the ignition. He made sure to sigh first before answering, with a smile he was sure could be heard, "Sadly so, apparently. I'll be there in twenty minutes."
***
The first thing Phoenix saw when he woke up was the empty space next to him, all neatly made up. His heart sank at that. He looked around the room and heard for any sound, anything, a sign that he wasn’t alone, that the guy hadn’t leave—but there was nothing but the sound of chirping birds and whirring engines outside. He closed his eyes to try and envision the gorgeous man he’d met yesterday. Silver hair, pale skin, long lashes. But already his mind failed him, the mental image blurry all over. He heaved out a long, long sigh, grabbed the neatly placed pillow and inhaled. The smell of generic detergent was strong, but he could sniff out the faint remains of the expensive-smelling cologne the man had worn last night.
He'd been gathering up the courage to ask the other man's name all night—from when they’d chatted at the bar, when they’d exchanged coy glances, when the casual banter turned inviting, when he’d (finally!) slammed Phoenix against the door as he kissed him—all the time the words were are at the tips of his tongue, ready roll out any moment—and as he closed his eyes in the warm afterglow to gather courage, his brain betrayed him by stopping to think altogether and chose that time to finally catch some Z’s he hadn’t had for three days. Granted, he was in a bit of a funk—he’d been painting nonstop, trying to finish his Phoenix painting series before the deadline for the collaborative art show of him and Larry next week. All the while rehearsing four hours a day for the upcoming Chicago at the community theatre as Billy Flynn, lawyer extraordinaire. He remembered laughing when he was assigned the part, thinking in what right mind would the universe let him be a lawyer, of all things. But still. He cursed his brain. Why.
He’d come looking for a little fun, a little time to unwind, a little release from everything. Just…not think about color schemes and water paint ratio and scripts and stage lights for one night. After he’d picked Trucy up from Wonder bar and tucked her to bed, he gelled his hair and donned his overused navy blue leather jacket and headed to the bar. He’d opted to go alone, since seeing Larry would only remind him of the upcoming deadline and the things he’d have to finish, no matter how fun and seemingly devoid of responsibility he can be, so he only planned to have a few drinks and enjoy the live music and maybe have a few light chats. So he ordered a pint of beer and sat at the only empty seat at the bar, since the whole place was packed. While waiting for his drink he turned to his neighbor for a friendly chat, and so he asked the grey haired man how he was doing.
He honestly wasn’t prepared for anything when the grey haired man turned around and turned out to be a drop-dead gorgeous, marble-statue-come-to-life kind of guy.
And the guy was funny. Dry-humor funny. He came across as suave, but Phoenix thought he was actually kinda nerdy, what with the bookish way he spoke. Which was cute as hell. Though the word cute no longer applied when the guy smirked—a one-sided quirk of the lip, half lidded eyes kinda smirk, and at that one moment Phoenix lost all self-control and flat out flirted with the guy.
Of course, they inevitably ended up in Gatewater Hotel.
It was one of the best ones he’d ever had, really. The sex, yeah…but he also genuinely enjoyed the guy’s company. Just spending time and talking with the guy coaxed him into a state of relaxation he hadn’t felt in weeks. He’d daresay he felt a sort of…connection. A little click, of sorts, a feeling of compatibility. And that train of thought depressingly brings him back to square one: he’s really pissed he didn’t even get the guy’s name.
Still, he was the one who made sure, insisted, even, from the very beginning that this was a one-night thing…
Because. Seeing Larry's come-and-go girlfriends and the whole business between Zak and Thalassa that ended with a wailing-for-months and possibly scarred Trucy—he pretty much gave up on the idea of any kind of romance. He wasn’t going to let her go through that again if things didn’t go smooth. He can, and he will deal with his needs on his own.
And that was that, he supposed. No reason to lay in annoyance in this lonely hotel room. Besides, he had to hurry up and go home before Trucy woke. So he stood and made gingerly made his way to the bathroom. He needed a cold shower, to wash these stupid thoughts away. He absent-mindedly rinsed and scrubbed himself with soap, then proceeded to stop and stare at the soap suds on his hands. He must’ve smelled like this when he left earlier…
Arghhhhhh. No. Shut up, brain!
Stepping out of the shower and feeling slightly better clean and dressed, he proceeded to grab his stuff. As he went to grab his phone he noticed it was plugged in the complimentary hotel charger.
Great. So he’s kinda considerate. Another reason to be unreasonably infatuated with the guy.
He grabbed his leather jacket and phone and proceeded to the bus stop across the street. He spent the ride home covering his mouth with his hand, inhaling the soft, clean, probably expensive hotel soap thinking of smooth pale skin and soft grey hair.