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Miles glares at the line of cars ahead of him at the arrivals pickup. His thumbs rap against the steering wheel.
His phone rings, he picks it up without looking. He knows the only person it'll be at this hour.
“Wright.”
“Edgeworth! I just left baggage claim.”
“Mm, good.” He leans down, looking for a location sign. The car in front of him pulls forward a few inches. A throng of people start to exit from the building, lining against the curb and crossing at the crosswalk (and some not) to the bus and parking lot.
He finds an empty spot as a car starts to pull away from the curb, and starts to pull into it. Another car attempts to glide past him into the spot, only to be met with a screech of brakes and the blare of his horn.
“Arschloch.” Miles mutters. He glances up at the sign. “Come to C-1.”
“Huh?” Phoenix sounds as though he’s dealing with his own crowd chaos.
“C-1!”
“See one what?” He can hear that shit-eating grin.
He breathes, slowly, out of his nose. “I will leave you here.”
“No you won't. Oh, I think I see you.”
A figure in grey waves at him from some distance away.
In the walk to the car Miles allows himself to stare. When was the last time he’d seen the man in person? Seven, eight months?
Overall, he can’t say Wright has changed much. He’s wearing the sweats that have become his staple, with a duffel bag and backpack hanging off of either shoulder. The beanie on his head sits loud and proud. He walks with the same canter as he always has. As if the further he walks on foreign soil, the lighter he feels.
And then Phoenix Wright is in his car, his bags thrown into the backseat.
He buckles himself in and turns to face Miles as fully as he can. “Hey.”
“Hello.” Miles doesn't turn to him. Won't trust himself if he does. He busies himself with looking for an opening in the traffic. “How was the flight?”
“You know how it is.” He laughs. “Three babies on a transatlantic flight and not enough grape juice in the world.”
“Well.” Finally, Miles is able to pull away from the traffic. “It’s good to know it didn’t break your spirit.”
“My spirit is formidable and you know it.”
Miles snorts. “It certainly is. How is everyone?”
“Ah, they're good…” Phoenix trails off, glancing out the window. “So much happening all the time.”
“Such as?”
“Maya and Pearl are taking a lot of spiritual trips, trying to connect with all of the surrounding temples. Trucy’s getting tutored in math, which she hates. But I told her if she passes her next quiz she can add one sparkler trick to her show.”
“Very motivating.”
“She doesn't seem to think so…” He sniffs. “She sends her love. They all do.”
There's a warmth blossoming inside him, like Trucy has set off her pyrotechnics in his ribcage.
“Is there anything you need before we get home?” Miles asks.
“Nope, I'm ready to dump everything and be lazy the rest of the day.”
“Hmm. I may have to put you to work. Lazy…”
Phoenix gasps. “You wouldn't dare.”
The rest of the ride is uneventful. Benign comments of people on the street, cars trucking along. Phoenix's singular comment about Miles speeding too fast for the neighborhood.
He pulls into the parking garage with a flourish, suddenly eager to be out of the car.
They each take one of Phoenix's bags and start the walk up.
They've just passed through the door to Miles’ apartment before he decides he can't take it any more.
He turns around and presses Phoenix to the wall, gripping his hoodie. His bags drop to the floor in a loud thump.
“I missed you.” Miles breathes against the man's lips. “Kiss me.”
“Already on it.” A kiss. “God, Miles.” He pulls back. “I've been waiting for this.” Another kiss. A hand on Miles' cheek. “For so long.” Miles can't breathe. “I was going crazy.” He doesn't want to. “Without you.”
Miles wastes no time pulling Phoenix to the couch. He should be embarrassed for the depths of his desire, but even just feeling the man under his palms is surreal.
The tactile need drives his endeavour forward, always needing evidence, evidence.
Evidence of how Phoenix has lived these past few months. The slight tone of his arms from working at the club, the paunch of his gut from Eldoon's and grape juice.
The smell of his cheap shampoo mixed with the cologne Miles sent to him on a random spring day. Because he'd smelled it in the store and could immediately imagine himself surrounded in it.
The reality, he finds, is so much better than the fantasy.
When Miles has almost gotten half of his fill he releases him, taking in the sight of tousled hair, red face, swollen lips.
He's sure he doesn’t look much different.
Phoenix splays across the couch like a painting just for him. A buffet to devour.
When he looks down, the man still has one shoe on.
Phoenix follows his gaze. Snorts. “You just seemed so eager.” He kicks it off.
Miles looks down at himself. He still has his coat on.
The evidence is a big, fat neon sign. “Perhaps… I was a bit.” He leans back, just to have enough room to slip the coat from his arms. “But I was not the only one.”
He folds the jacket a bit sloppier than normal, only deigning to drape it over the coffee table.
“I never said you were.” Phoenix licks his lips, taking in the sight of Miles removing any article of clothing in his vicinity. Miles in turn tracks the movement of his tongue.
He pulls Miles back down, to settle into the crook of his neck.
Miles sighs in contentment. This is what he's been waiting for, thinking about for months. He runs his hands over Phoenix's frame once more and lets the man do the same to him.
Exploratory but well-known. A revisiting of familiar ground.
He fears he could stay like this. If Phoenix asked him to, he could see himself dropping any and all responsibility, just to hold him a moment longer.
How lucky he is then, that Phoenix has allowed him his freedom.
“New shampoo?” Phoenix mutters into his hair, taking another deep breath that draws Miles from his thoughts.
Miles frowns. “They changed the formula of my usual brand. So now the scent is different. I already emailed a complaint but I'm going to try to finish the bottle before finding an alternative.”
Phoenix captures his hand, lacing their fingers together. “How brave of you... I like it still.”
The comment mollifies him somewhat.
“At least someone enjoys it.”
Phoenix hums. “Well there are very few things you could smell like that I wouldn't enjoy.”
“Such as?”
“...Pesticides, maybe.”
Miles rolls his eyes. “Well then it would be doing its job.’
“Are you implying something?”
“Nothing of the sort. I'm insinuating it.”
“Extremely rude. I'm aghast. Can't even stand to look at you right now.”
Miles shimmies in further. “The evidence suggests otherwise.”
He feels Phoenix's laugh in his chest. “Mm, and it will continue to.”
He reaches up, slowly slips his fingers under Phoenix's beanie. “May I?”
“Sure.”
He pulls it up off his head, putting it to the side. And when he reaches to run a hand through the man's hair, there is more than he remembered.
“Your hair is longer.” He says as a fact.
Phoenix taps his fingers along Miles' back. “Should I cut it?”
“... No.”
“Don’t want to have to pay for it?”
“It's not that.”
“I know.” Phoenix smiles at him. “I missed this.”
“As did I.” He can admit. He's so comfortable he lets Phoenix reach to grab the remote, settling in for the long haul of whatever channel he can find.
They're somewhere in the middle of some action film when Miles sits up, question in mind.
“What do you-” Phoenix kisses the corner of his mouth. He reciprocates eagerly. So easily distracted. “What do you want for dinner?”
“You.”
Miles suppresses the urge to give in to that suggestion. “No, you dolt. Pick food.”
“Oh… what do you have?”
Miles tries to think of the contents of his kitchen. There's the lingering thought that if he gets up to cook, he'll be out of Phoenix's embrace once more.
Phoenix seems to read his mind. “Why don't we order, so I can hold you until the last possible second when the doorbell rings.”
That, Miles will allow himself.
“Very well. But there is still the matter of choosing what to order.”
“Just get whatevers the most local.” Phoenix replies, already making Miles neck his home once more.
“So Mendy's was the most local thing, huh?”
Miles sputters. “It was the first thing I saw.”
“Hey, I'm not complaining. Fry?” He holds up a french fry between them, face expectant.
“Without a singular condiment? How uncouth.”
“Ah, forgive me.” He swipes the fry through the carton of honey mustard like he's driving a truck. “Better?”
“Marginally.” Miles takes it between his teeth anyway.
“You got a little…” Instead of swiping the remaining sauce from Miles’ cheek with his finger, Phoenix leans over and licks.
“You. Are. A menace,” Miles manages.
“I'm your menace.”
Miles sighs. “You are, I suppose. By default.”
“Hey! What does that mean?”
“No one else would take you.”
Phoenix rolls his eyes. “Verifiably untrue, but whatever.”
“Allow me to amend my statement. No one else sane will take you. I know Gavin happily would.”
“Ugh,” Phoenix groans. “Don't even talk about him right now.”
“Apologies.” Miles swipes up his own fry, “I'll make it up to you.”
“Oh, don't mind if I do.”
Although Phoenix's request to join him in the shower was rather tempting, Miles had rolled his eyes and pushed him towards the bathroom alone, deciding to finish preparing the case they would be working on while Phoenix was here.
That is how Phoenix finds him. papers and photographs in papers over the coffee table. His makeshift office of a spare room wouldn't accommodate the two of them like this.
“Working hard or hardly working?” Phoenix calls from the entryway. Miles hadn't even heard the water shut off, absorbed in his work.
His eyes flick up to Phoenix of their own accord, taking in his choice of sleepwear.
“Born to Hunt. Wright, where did you even get that?”
Phoenix steps further into the room.
“Maya. Well, she had Pearl hand it to me, but it had her written all over it.”
He rounds the table and places a hand on Miles’ shoulder.
“Ready for bed?”
Miles isn't quite sure. Organizing the affidavits and crime scene analysis had led to him reading them over, forming new logic links in his mind. His notes lay freshly inked next to him, more threatening to spill forth onto the page throughout the night.
The Steel Samurai quote leaves his mouth before he can think it over. “Evil never rests.”
Phoenix replies, undeterred and squeezing his shoulder lightly. “Well I do. Come to bed.”
There's a flicker of embarrassment in how quickly his resolve crumbles.
By the time Miles is ready for bed, Phoenix is already snuggled under the covers.
He takes a moment to take in the sight.
“Miles.” Phoenix whines. “I’m lonely.”
“We can't have that, now can we?” Miles pulls the sheets back, slipping under them.
He throws a lazy arm over Phoenix, pulling him closer.
“You're fucking freezing.” The man grumbles sleepily.
“And you're going to give me heatstroke.” Miles shifts his leg up, pressing his foot to Phoenix's calf.
“Ack.” Phoenix jumps. “You're such a cunt.”
“So people say.” His eyes are already slipping shut, Phoenix's warmth encompassing him.
It had always been easier to sleep with the man next to him. There's a thought worming its way into his head, the desire for a more permanent arrangement, just like this.
He drifts off before it has a chance to fully form. Such is the way of things, in the arms of a lover.