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When Miles floats to a modicum of awareness, the first thing he notices is the sound of a television on low. Low enough he can’t make out the words, only bits and pieces of the soundtrack.
The next thing he notices is the position his body is in, the dull ache in his back that can only mean he’s stomach down on a cramped couch somewhere. On top of the lumpiest couch in the district, if he had to give out an award.
There is a chuckle in time with the recorded laugh track. He feels it against his skin, traveling through his core.
Wright.
His head rests on Wright’s chest, a hand hooking over Wright’s shoulder. His legs slotted between Wright’s own.
He’d stayed at Wright’s, on Wright. How he fell asleep he doesn’t quite recall, but he remembers where he is at least, and that is enough for his sleep-addled brain at the moment.
He inhales deeply, breathing in the scent of cheap cologne and toothpaste that probably spilled onto his dress shirt.
“What are you doing?”
Oh no. He’s been caught.
Before he can open his mouth, trying to make an excuse that sounds valid to his ears, another voice filters through the room.
“Was just going to get some water…” The statement is followed by a yawn, like the owner had just woken up. She likely had. “You doing okay?”
“I should be asking you that.”
“You have been. All day. I’m fine, really.”
“Maya-”
“If I wasn’t I would tell you.”
The air in the room feels charged, suffocating, for the shortest moment. Miles almost isn’t sure if he should stay. If he should get up and apologize for intruding on the moment. Excuse himself and start the long trek back to his apartment.
But Wright is so warm. And he is so, so tired.
All at once the tension is gone, like the two cannot find the energy to continue the line of discussion.
Maya speaks first.
“So what’s with the…”
Wright sighs, Miles can feel the breath in his hair. “... He looked tired. I didn’t want to send him home.”
“He always looks tired. He’s Edgeworth.”
“Yeah.”
Miles couldn’t quite place his tone.
“And this explains the setup how?” She giggles when she asks, like the longer she’s in their presence the more absurd she finds it. Which Miles finds a bit rude, he’s very comfortable.
“I… Well… He…”
“Uh, uh, uh. Come on, Nick. Get it together.”
“I have it together!” Phoenix yelps, then tenses, then repeats the phrase in a whisper.
“Sure you do.”
“Look, it's… complicated.”
There are footsteps, Maya getting closer. Miles can hear her stop just before them.
“ Are you alright?”
“Hmm?”
He hears a small intake of breath, like Maya isn’t sure if she should say what comes next. “You were so sad, Nick. And I didn’t know why. Don’t you think this is an opportunity to make up with him?”
Miles doesn’t exactly follow. Wright was sad? That wouldn’t do. Not at all.
He’d read somewhere that physical touch was good for that. A grounder to know that someone was there.
He wraps himself around Wright tighter, tucking closer to his neck.
The voices above him pause, and he feels Wright tense under his fingers. He almost frowns, but the man relaxes again.
Wright speaks, quieter still.
“I don’t know.”
His hand makes its way to Miles’ back, running along his spine. Miles is almost pulled back to sleep from that alone. He drifts along as the low voices wash over him.
“I was just so angry at him, Maya. And now…”
“Now?”
“Now I don’t know what to think.”
If Miles ever found who Wright was talking about, the mystery man would have a stern talking to waiting for him. Or legal proceedings, depending on how much of a case he could level against him.
Until then, Miles would indulge in using Wright as a comfortable pillow.
“You should get some sleep, Maya.”
“Aye aye, Captain. You guys good out here?”
“Yeah. He sleeps like the… like a log.”
And Miles hears footsteps padding away. Some shuffling from the kitchen area is the only noise for a while, before he hears the bedroom door close with a whine.
Wright should fix that one day.
There’s a moment he thinks he’s gotten away with it all, a silent witness to the quiet of the night. Where he only has to focus on Wright’s breathing, gently rocking them up and down.
“Go back to sleep, Edgeworth.”
Miles freezes, tenses against him.
“I didn’t think you knew.”
“How could I not?”
“I…” He trails off, sighing as fingers run across his scalp.
It isn’t often, outside of his nightmares, where he feels like he’s nine again. But right here, with the motion, he’s in Phoenix’s house after school. Their first sleepover together, spread out in the living room on pillows and blankets. When Miles had missed his own bed and father too much to fall asleep easily.
Phoenix had pressed their beddings next to each other and asked him what was wrong, how could he help. What did he do at home to help him sleep?
Not being trusted to heat up some milk, and it being too late at night anyway to make a cup, Phoenix had done the next best thing.
He reached out to pet Miles’ hair just like his father did. And Miles had felt his eyes slip shut almost immediately, a contented sleep finally catching up to him with the repeated motion.
The same motion Phoenix did now.
No one had done this for sixteen years. Longer, really.
Fascinating, what rituals will stick.
There were questions Miles wanted to ask, things he didn’t want to flee his mind before they properly took root. But he was quickly deciding it could all wait until the morning.
Wright seemed to agree.
“Goodnight.”
Miles mumbled something into his collar, he’s sure of it. But he allows himself to be lulled by the hum of the television, the repeated strokes down his hair and back.
Wright would be there in the morning anyway, where could he go that Miles wouldn’t notice?