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Miles never would have thought to end up in a situation like this. Enjoying it, no less. But here he is, lying in bed at 10 am, still not dressed. And as if that wasn’t enough, Wright is propped over him, his arms on either sides of Miles’ body, framing him, kissing him. He returns the kisses, passionately, soft sounds coming over his lips from time to time. God, it feels good. His whole body feels hot, he feels almost strangely comfortable. He loves how smooth Wright’s lips are, he loves the feeling of Wright’s hair when he lets strands of it slide through his fingers. The sensation of Wright’s soft tongue against his own, Wright’s teeth teasingly biting into his lower lip. Wright, softly grinding his body against his own. Miles’ fingers are shaking as he tugs at Wright’s shirt without thinking, lifting it up. Wright draws back a little, looking at him, waiting for his approving nod before he takes off his t-shirt.
It’s not the first time he sees Wright like this, but he’s still fascinated. His hands softly stroke over his naked chest, examining the skin with a thorough curiosity. Wright smiles. He loves this. When he is done tracing his hands over Wright’s chest and sides, he lays them on his back again, pulling him into another kiss, softly first, then more passionately than even before. He has no comparison, of course, but he’s very certain that Wright is a staggeringly good kisser. He reacts to every single one of Miles’ responses. By now, he knows better what Miles likes best about kissing than he does himself. It doesn’t upset him, not anymore. It’s rather enjoyable.
He turns his head to break the kiss, feeling a little breathless. “Wright, I … think you can … take off my t-shirt.”
Wright looks at him, a little surprised. He can’t blame him. He surprised himself with that offer.
“Are you sure?” Wright’s warm hand against his cheek. He feels himself smile a little — it feels unfamiliar — and nods.
“I… Yes, I’m … quite sure.”
Wright’s smile grows wider, and then he does, he takes off Miles’ shirt and looks at him, seeing him like this for the first time since they were nine years old.
For some minutes, that’s all there is. Wright’s observing eyes, and then, after a moment of hesitation, his hands and their gentle movement against his chest. He lets his head fall back, resting on the pillow again, eyes closed. This, too, feels good.
Wright know what he does. For a moment the thought threatens to bring other, unpleasant ideas with it — Wright has had sex with others, he’s seen others completely naked before, he has touched others in just the same way — but he shakes them off. It’s actually quite easy, what with how good Wright’s hands feel. He takes in a deep breath, and then, then there’s Wright’s mouth, placing kisses on his chest, leaving wet traces where his tongue touches skin. He can feel Wright’s smirk against his naked chest as he kisses his way up to one of Miles’ nipples, tongue brushing briefly against it. He answers the gesture with a surprisingly audible moan that almost startles him, and turns his head against his own shoulder, knowing that his face must be flushed deep red. Wright’s teeth gently bite down, and Miles immediately grabs the sheets with both hands, stifling any sound that may want to escape from his mouth by pressing his lips harder against his shoulder. He feels the vibration of Wright’s laughter against his skin before he actually hears it. “You’re adorable, Miles. You do know I can feel that you enjoy that, whether or not you make a sound, right?” He gently moves his knee between Miles’ legs and promptly earns another stifled moan in return.
“I hate you”, Miles mumbles.
“Oh, you don’t.” He’s above him now again and presses a kiss on Miles’ cheek. “No need to hide your lovely responses. I told you I love your reactions. Turns me on.”
This comment only adds to Miles’ embarrassment, but he tries to push the feeling aside and turns his head to face Wright again, pulling him in for another kiss.
This one is messier. There’s nothing testing about it, it’s demanding and almost forceful, the way Wright licks between his lips and pushes their tongues together, the way Wright’s hips grind against him, and oh, God, this, too, feels good, and he certainly can feel that yes, his reactions really do turn Wright on. His thoughts are just as messy as the kiss, he imagines Wright’s body, completely naked, looking at him, looking at all of him, and he lets his head fall back against the pillow again to take in a shaky, deep breath. Wright looks at him, a smug smile on his face. He lets his finger trace over Miles half-opened lips, and then he stops, looking a little surprised. His index finger gently strokes over one particular spot just below Miles’ lower lip.
“Hey, where do you have that from?”
“Hmm?” Miles’ thoughts are still pleasingly messy.
“You’ve got a scar here. Looks odd. How’d you get that?”
Miles’ eyes widen a little as he realizes what Wright is talking about. For years now this has been one physical spot he always blinded out when looking into the mirror. He lifts his hand to touch the scar himself. He looks at Wright and realizes that he lied to him when he said Mr. von Karma never hit him.
~
He’s fifteen years old. His German is perfect enough by now, but he still works on his stupid accent shining through when he talks in his second language. Von Karma always shoots him a scolding glance whenever something he says sounds especially ‘English’.
Most of the time, he’s busy studying to become a prosecutor, and on the rare occasions that he’s got an afternoon or an evening off, he usually stays in his room and reads. Books. Old letters. They have stopped coming by now, but he can’t blame neither Phoenix nor Larry, because after all, he had never answered. (Nevertheless, it still hurts. By now, they surely have forgotten about him. He never will.)
Today afternoon, he’s free to do whatever he wants, and for once, he leaves not only his room but also von Karma’s manor to visit the park. During the last few weeks, he’s been in town a number of times, and during these visits, he happened to meet three people around his age who didn’t actually laugh about his accent or his clothes.
“Hey, Miles!” It’s Hanna who sees him first, and he smiles a little and sits down on the bench beside her. Max and Andreas are arguing about a film they’ve seen together and ignore him first. But that’s okay. He feels strangely content, spending time with them. Hanna leans against his side. “You can be glad that you’re taught at home. This new maths teacher we have is a pain in the ass.” She flashes him a grin.
“My condolences”, he says, letting it sound like he actually means it, although he’d rather visit the public school, too.
Max and Andreas are done fighting over fictional characters. All four of them start talking about different things now, and as they do, Miles feels almost normal. It’s nice, feeling like belonging to a group. He hasn’t felt like that for six years now. After a while, they decide to leave the park and go over to Max’s place, and Miles gladly accepts when they invite him to join them, too.
It’s a small apartment. All too different from the von Karma manor. Miles loves it. There are pictures on the walls, not paintings, pictures, family pictures, vacation photographies, there’s a hole in the carpet in Max’s room where he once accidentally dropped a candle, he explains, and it feels so … homey. Miles can’t stop smiling as they all sit in Max’s small room, plastered with posters of musicians and actors. He can’t remember when he last felt so comfortable.
“Hey, Miles? Why do you live with von Karma?”
Miles lifts his gaze to look at Andreas. He looks right back, eyes curious. “I mean, your last name was… What was it again?”
“Edgeworth.” It feels strange on his tongue. Almost foreign. And it hurts. Edgeworth. Defense attorney Edgeworth.
“Yeah, that. So, why do you live with them?”
“He… He adopted me.”
“What about your real parents?” Hanna plays with her hair. They all look at him now. Breathing is getting harder.
He shakes his head. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Oh. Okay. Sorry.” Hanna exchanges a look with Andreas and Max, Miles can see it even though they sure didn’t mean him to.
It’s alright. Breathe.
What's wrong, little brother?
Cease this nonsense, little boy!
Shhh. Breathe.
He breathes, and for a time, that’s all he does, and when he’s finally able to concentrate on the others again, they have changed subjects.
He still enjoys the other’s company, but the comfortable feeling has vanished. His father had promised to travel Europe with him, one day. He is in Europe, now, but his father is far away and he misses him and right now, he hates everything and everyone, he misses him so, so much. He knows that he’s supposed to be perfect, which means not having stupid feelings like missing someone, that’s not the von Karma way, he’s a disgrace to this name, but it doesn’t help.
After a while, they leave the apartment again to head over to the playground which is deserted as always at this time of the day. It’s almost getting dark and Miles will have to go back in half an hour or so, but until then, he sits down on one of the swings. Max takes a packet of cigarettes from his backpack and passes it around. Miles declines. They sit in silence for a few minutes. Hanna, Max and Andreas are smoking while Miles is just sitting there, trying to forget that he will eventually have to leave to return into this huge mansion that doesn’t feel like home at all, even after years of living there.
Maybe it’s because of these thoughts that he hesitantly accepts the bottle of Vodka when Max offers it to him — Max’s backpack is full of things they are not supposed to have. He never drank alcohol before. It tastes disgusting first, it hurts his throat when he swallows it, but it leaves a nice, warm feeling in his stomach, and the second, third and fourth sips are not as bad.
He knows not how it came to this, but eventually it’s dark and the bottle stayed with him while the others kept smoking their cigarettes, and he somehow ended up sitting on Andreas’ lap, and Andreas’ hands are in his hair, mussing it and bringing it back into order just to muss it again, and at once point Andreas’ lips are on his neck and there are goosebumps all over his body and he briefly thinks of turning his head to kiss him, just because he feels like it, just because he wants to feel the sensation of warm lips against his own, but then he just keeps drinking and does nothing else.
“You know what would look great?”
Miles swallows the mouthful of Vodka and looks at Andreas. “Hm?”
“A lip piercing.”
“… On me?” Miles’ eyes widen.
“Yes. You’d look hot with it.” Andreas grins and lets his tongue flicker over his own piercing. “Here.” He touches the spot below Miles’ lower lip on the right side.
“… You think so?”
“Mhmm.” An approving sound.
“Hm.” Miles thinks about it and drinks again. The bottle is half empty by now. His head feels a little strange, his thoughts are slow and lazy. But his whole body feels warm.
And then he suddenly finds himself leaving the playground, Andreas is holding his hand, which is odd but nice and somehow necessary because Miles’ steps are unsteady and he feels dizzy and a little sick and they end up at Andreas’ place, bigger than Max’s apartment but by far not as huge as the von Karma manor, and then he’s lying on Andreas’ bed and his head is in Andreas’ lap. He looks at him, holding some sort of thick needle in his hand and explaining that this is called a canula and that his father is a doctor and then he tells him to hold still and Miles does, and the expression in Andreas’ eyes is one of pure concentration and he trusts him, somehow, and then the canula is pressed through his flesh and it fucking hurts and there are tears in his eyes, and Andreas pushes a ring through the puncture and closes it with a little metal ball and it still fucking hurts and it’s bleeding all the time and he feels sicker than before and than he’s in Andreas’ bathroom, throwing up while Andreas gently rubs his hand over his back.
He doesn’t really remember what happened next, he simply knows that he’s standing in front of von Karma’s door now, and his watch tells him that it’s 2:15 am, fuck, and his lip is still bleeding, his lip still hurts, but he’s sure it looks good. He doesn’t have a key and he doesn’t dare ringing the door bell because it’s fucking 2:15 am and there are tears in his eyes again and he misses his father, he misses California and his friends back there. It’s freezing cold.
It takes him about half an hour to gather up all of his courage, and then another five minutes, because after all, it’s not 2:15 am anymore, it’s 2:45 am, which is even worse, but eventually he does ring the door bell.
It’s Manfred von Karma himself who opens the door on him. He’s lacking his composed looks, and Miles immediately knows that he really, really fucked up big this time as his adoptive father hauls him into the house and bangs the door shut. Before he can even think of how to apologize — for ringing the door bell at 2:45 am, for getting home late, for leaving the house in the first place, for getting his lip pierced, for being such a bother, for not being perfect, for being an orphan, for forcing Mr. von Karma into taking care of him, for being not perfect, for being not perfect, for being- — von Karma lunges out and slaps him in the face. The blow catches him off guard - von Karma never did something like that before, and Miles stumbles and half falls into the glass rack which is standing in the hallway. One of the ancient vases on it tumbles down and shatters into a million pieces with a loud, disgusting sound, which immediately earns him another hard slap across the face.
Miles supports himself by pressing his hand against the wall and straightens himself. He feels anger bubbling up in him, and he glares at von Karma, free hand pressed against his hot, burning cheek.
“Go to bed, boy. Now.” Von Karma’s voice is hard as steel.
“Don’t tell me what to do.” Miles takes a step towards him, hands clenched into fists now. “Don’t tell me what to do! You are not my father!”
Another slap, with even more force, which has him falling to the floor now. “That much is certainly true.” Von Karma’s voice is still cold, still hard, but calmer now. “You will never be a von Karma.”
“You are not my father”, Miles repeats softly. His voice lacks the strength now, and he can feel all the anger disappear at von Karma’s next words. “Your father.” He snorts. “The one you shot?”
It all crumbles. The anger. The resistance. He can feel himself break apart and the next thing he knows is that he’s curled into a ball, sobbing.
“Papa?” The soft voice comes from the top of the stairs leading to the bedrooms. “I’ve heard noises. Is my little brother back?”
“Go to bed, Franziska. And I know that you’ve been sneaking into Edgeworth’s bed every time he’s crying like the little boy he is. You will not do that tonight. He doesn’t deserve company.”
“… Yes, Papa.” Franziska, only eight years old, turns around and makes her way back into her bedroom.
Miles can feel von Karma’s gaze on him and then he leaves him alone without another word.
It takes a long time before he’s calm enough to even bother to get up. The way up the stairs seems to be miles long, just like the few steps to his room. He falls into his bed, fully dressed and still sobbing, exhausted, shaking violently, hearing the echo of the gunshot again and again. He buries his face in the pillow and wishes he could just fall asleep and not wake up again.
~
Von Karma ignores him for two weeks. During this time, neither Franziska nor any of the staff speak a single word to him. Von Karma must have forbidden it. He feels lonely. He feels lost. Lost inside this huge mansion and its uncountable rooms, lost inside this country which still feels wrong and most of all, lost inside himself. The piercing is infected. Eating hurts. Speaking hurts — not that he has anyone to talk to — and every time he touches it, it begins bleeding or discharging pus. He doesn’t think it looks good. He stays in his room and studies.
After these two weeks, von Karma comes into his room without knocking. He simply steps in and looks at Miles who is sitting on his bed, law book on his knees. “Put the book aside.”
Miles does what he is told. Resistance is futile and you killed your own father.
Von Karma lowers himself onto the bed next to him and looks at the piercing, lips curling into a smirk. “I hope it hurts, boy.”
“It does.”
“I didn’t allow you to talk.”
Miles lowers his head in an apologetic gesture only to have von Karma grip his chin to force it back up again. “Stay like that.”
Again, Miles does. He clenches his fists as von Karma touches the piercing and then retrieves a pair of pliers from his pocket, but he keeps perfectly still, even as von Karma uses the pliers to extract the small metal ball and pull out the piercing. His lip feels like it’s on fire.
Von Karma examines the piercing, the look on his face almost disgusted, then stands up and leaves Miles’ room. “Continue your studies”, he says before he shuts the door. “And I don’t want you to see any of your useless friends again. Do you understand me?”
Miles does. He obeys. Even on the rare, free afternoons or evenings, he stays home and studies. The hole from the piercing slowly heals and leaves a scar that never really fades.
~
Miles slowly lowers his hand from the scar. He feels like he’s going to cry, and Wright still looks at him with this soft, curious expression.
The worst part is that he is Chief Prosecutor now. He shouldn’t be so weak. He shouldn’t feel like crying. After all these years, he shouldn’t still be overwhelmed when thinking about his past. He should be over it. He should be able to talk about it. He should be able to laugh about it. He shouldn’t exclude Wright, that’s not who he wants to be anymore, he wants to talk about his feelings. He is Chief Prosecutor, now.
He feels terrifyingly naked. “I do not wish to talk about that”, he murmurs, stands up and goes over to his closet to grab some fresh clothes before disappearing in the bathroom, leaving Wright behind. As he looks into the mirror, he not only hates this cursed scar, he also hates himself.