Work Text:
Miles Edgeworth is the last person to stay home sick from work.
That's why, despite waking up to his head pounding like a drum and the inability to breathe through his nose, he is up and brushing his teeth. His throat forces coughs out of him that punch him in the stomach until his eyes burn.
From the other room, Miles hears Phoenix yawn and get out of bed--which isn't surprising, considering how frequent these obnoxious coughing fits are becoming. Miles feels guilty for waking up his husband, but the only thing on his mind is the sneeze building up in his head.
He sighs because today is clearly going to be a long day.
Miles found himself in the kitchen, standing in front of the counter with a cup of tea in his hand. It might've been Matcha or Peppermint; honestly, he just made the first one he could get his hands on, hoping that he'd feel better after getting caffeine in his system. He grabbed the counter with his free hand to hold himself upright, otherwise, he would fall face-first into his cup. When two warm arms wrapped around him from behind, he melted into the touch; partially because he loved hugs from his husband, and partially because just keeping himself on two feet was a challenge.
Phoenix buried his face in the crook of Miles's neck, kissing his shoulder and letting it linger as he spoke. "Morning. How are you feeling?"
"I'm doing--" He coughed, "I'm doing fine. I woke up slightly more tired than usual, though."
As if the world was specifically trying to prove him wrong, he broke into a coughing fit once again, nearly dropping his cup in the process.
"You were saying?"
Miles scoffed, sipping his tea. "I'm fine. Nothing more than a small cough. It will pass by tomorrow, I assure you."
"I'm sure," he replied, not sounding sure. He slipped away from Miles, searching through drawers behind him. When he returned to the prosecutor's side, he gently tilted his face and stuck a thermometer in his mouth.
Miles didn't have the energy to protest. When Phoenix pulled it out and checked the temperature, he frowned.
"101.4," he read, "You're not working today."
"Phoenix.." Was the most he could say. Miles felt like he had been thrown into a lake with a ball and chain connected to his ankles; every piece of matter was pulling him downwards, making it an incredible effort to even stand.
"No. You're clearly sick. It'll only get worse if you don't rest."
Miles shakily put his cup on the counter, struggling to hold his eyes open from pure exhaustion. He swayed, his vision blurry, before his legs felt like they didn't work anymore.
Time seemed to stop for just a few seconds, and suddenly Miles was in Phoenix's arms.
"I got you, I got you.." His arms were caring but firm around the prosecutor, holding him upright. "C'mon, let's get you on the couch, okay?" his voice was noticeably gentle compared to the strict tone from a few moments ago.
Everything was pretty fuzzy. Miles's entire body was so unbearably tired that he could hardly help Phoenix bring him to the living room. He was vaguely aware of lying down on the couch and having a soft kiss planted on his forehead. Not having to worry about standing, though, was making him come back to his senses a bit.
Miles presses a hand to his left temple and sighs. "Dear, I have work to do."
"I'm calling the prosecutor's office. You need to rest."
"Rotting away alone in our apartment won't do me much of a favor, either."
Phoenix grinned, "You won't be alone. I'll tell Maya she has the day off, too."
"This is ridiculous," Miles shakes his head, but a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth.
The ravenhead turned the TV to Steel Samurai reruns, smiling teasingly at Miles. "Your favorite," he put down the remote, before disappearing into the kitchen to make the phone calls.
Miles was initially pleased, enjoying season 1 of Steel Samurai while getting comfortable on the couch, but he began to feel this overwhelming sense of guilt. He felt like he was being swallowed by the idea that he isn't allowed to be resting right now. Even when the pretty ravenhead brings him breakfast and kisses him all over his face, and he smiles up at him, Miles can barely hear his own voice saying 'thank you' over the shame that floods his mind.
Going completely against Phoenix's orders (and his own body's persistent objections), he manages to get himself standing upright. Miles immediately notices how suddenly heavy his entire body is. He drags himself out of the living room, a migraine slowly creeping through his skull. As he walked, he stumbled, and caught himself on the door frame.
"Miles, what are you doing?" Phoenix asked from behind him.
"I'm getting my computer," he muttered.
"What? Today's your day to rest." Phoenix stood in front of Miles, taking the other's hands into his own and stopping him from entering the bedroom. "I made your favorite green tea, just come lay down, okay?"
The prosecutor's eyes wandered past Phoenix to their barely opened closet. He noticed his old suit barely peaking through the doors.
He remembered being handed that suit on his 19th birthday by cold, unforgiving hands who held higher standards than Miles could ever keep up with. Even though it had been years since he'd last worn that coat, it now served the purpose of looking down on him with the same brutal gaze that man had kept on him constantly. It served as a constant reminder that he was imperfect and that he destroyed the perfect von Karma name.
So, gathering all the (little) energy in his body, he pushed past his husband and into the bedroom.
"It's--It's fine, truly. I already feel myself getting better..." he trailed off, his eyelids heavier than the shame he carried with him.
Miles reached for his laptop, then crumbled.
Miles's consciousness came back to him, tucked into the bed he shared with his husband, his head elevated on two pillows. He turned his head just so he could see the emptiness beside him. He felt unbearably hot and sweaty, but cold chills ran down his spine and sent him cuddling under the covers for warmth. Swallowing his own saliva made his throat ache, throwing him into yet another coughing fit.
He forced his eyelids to open when Phoenix showed up in the doorway, holding a cup of tea.
Miles just watched as he sat by his feet and handed him the tea. He took it with a shiver.
"Cold? The tea might warm you up," Phoenix offered, a dorky smile spreading across his face.
Miles nodded, taking a sip and feeling the warm tea spread heat through his whole body. He placed the cup on the bedside table beside him.
Phoenix scooted towards him and pressed a long kiss to his forehead. When he pulled back, he looked at Miles with pity.
"Still feels pretty hot. Sorry, sweetheart."
Miles tried a smile, then found his eyes drawn to the partially open closet door all over again. He thought of all the days he was made to go to school despite being sick, all the work he had to complete regardless of how tired he felt or how late it was.
His perfect record had been broken long ago. He shouldn’t be resting at a time like this.
"Hey," Phoenix's voice broke through his train of thought, "You don't seem fond of the idea of a day off. What's going on?"
Miles could feel tears prick at his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away. "I just dislike the idea of having to catch up tomorrow."
Phoenix followed Miles's eyes and noticed the coat through the closet door.
"Miles..."
"Phoenix, I assure you, you have nothing to--"
"It's because of von Karma, right?"
Miles sucked in a breath. He hated the sound of that name.
"Oh.." Phoenix started to realize, "Oh." Phoenix gently tilted the other's face to face his own. "Miles, dear, you can't let him--"
"Please," Miles muttered, "Don't worry about it. I don't want to concern you."
Phoenix gently rested his forehead on Miles's. "No, no," his voice was softer than expected, "I'm here for you, Miles. Let me help you."
The demon prosecutor couldn't blink back the tears this time. He just let them fall, letting the cold facade slip. Phoenix held him close while Miles silently cried into his chest.
"It's okay. You don't need to carry anything alone, I promise," Phoenix mumbled, pressing kisses on the top of Miles's head.
Miles felt like it might actually be okay.
Later that afternoon, the bathroom door creaked open, and Miles slowly stepped out. Phoenix, who was sitting on the couch looking through case files, turned to look at him. Immediately, his face flashed with concern, and he was quickly up and next to Miles.
"Your complexion is making me nervous," Phoenix muttered, letting Miles lean on him.
"I'm fine. Just need to make it to the bedroom," Miles replied, barely louder than a whisper.
"I can tell your sicker than you're letting on. I'll get you to the couch and get you some medicine, okay?"
"I said I--" Miles suddenly cut himself short by gagging, he slapped a hand over his mouth and (somehow) turned a shade paler. Before Phoenix could say a word, he was bent over the toilet puking.
Phoenix slowly sat next to Miles and rubbed his back as he retched. Miles trembled. "It's okay. I'm not leaving your side." He fell into another coughing fit and threw up again.
Miles reached up and flushed the toilet with a shaky hand. His stomach seemed unhappy, as if Miles chose to puke.
The smell and the taste made him shudder and want to puke again. His nose was plugged no matter how many tissues he used, his throat hated him from the pain of dry heaving over and over, his head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton and was about to split open any moment. When Miles shook and puked again, the pain and pressure in his skull only doubled. His eyes stung from the irritation and forced tears down his face.
Phoenix silently offered Miles a few tissues. When he turned to take them, he expected Phoenix to be disgusted with him.
But he wasn’t. His eyes were gentle and patient and…
In love. With Miles.
And, god, was Miles in love with him.
He wiped his mouth, flushing it and the rest of his mess.
“I’m sorry,” Phoenix said in a hushed tone.
“Whatever for?” Miles managed.
Phoenix laughed, “Wow, you still speak like an 1800s philosopher after all this.” When Miles glared at him, he cleared his throat, “I just meant, I’m sorry you have to deal with this. I know you want to work and all, but…”
“I know. I shouldn’t.”
“You aren’t alone. I’m always going to be right here, you know that.”
Miles didn’t say anything. He just let more tears fall.
The two attorneys watched Pink Princess together on the couch. (Phoenix seemed more interested in the case files he was reading than the show.)
Miles, who wasn’t normally a huge fan of the cuddly-fluffy couple things, was snuggling very closely to Phoenix in a desperate attempt to steal some of his heat. Despite having a fever, he had cold chills running up and down his spine.
“Phoenix.”
“Yes?”
“I am most likely contagious.”
Phoenix chuckled, “I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Don’t you mind?”
Phoenix turned and closed the small amount of space between the two in a kiss.
“Nope,” that dorky grin was back.
Miles felt heat rise from his neck to his face (surprisingly, not from his flu.)
Phoenix turned his attention back to his case files, but Miles eyes stayed on him.
After a moment, Miles said, lower, “Phoenix.”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
"You don't have to thank me," he flipped through papers.
Miles thought about that for a moment. Didn't he?
Phoenix spoke up again before Miles got a chance, "I've always wanted to be by your side, Miles. You know that."
"I suppose so."
That dorky grin. "You suppose?"
After a moment, he muttered, "I love you."
Vulnerability didn't come easy to Miles, but, Phoenix was helping him there little by little.
He wasn't used to those words on his tongue.
Regardless, he felt comfortable. He felt okay.
"I love you, too."
Miles woke up to hear Phoenix coughing up a storm.
Whoops.