Miles lay in his bed, ramrod straight.

Not that his bedtime thoughts were usually pleasant. But he felt like he had just downed a shot of espresso, eyes wide open staring at the ceiling.

Phoenix was here. Twenty four hours ago. And there was no chance that Miles could sleep, because every time he tried, he saw-

Phoenix Wright, breaking down in tears in front of him. Disheveled, broken-down, Phoenix Wright, the night before he returned to his “dismal” life in LA.

“I can't do this,” he sobbed, “I can't do this.”

Miles was somewhat uncertain what “this” entailed. Phoenix was so tight lipped about everything since his disbarment almost seven years ago, but lately there was clearly something he wanted to talk about, but was choosing to keep under wraps.

Miles understood. But it was still heartbreaking to see him like this, breaking down right in front of him for the first time since they were nine years old.

And so Miles did something he never thought he would do. He reached out, and let his hand alight on Phoenix's shoulder. 

Phoenix reacted to the touch with louder sobs. Before Miles could fully panic, Phoenix leaned his whole body in, following the path of Miles’ arms-

Miles’ vision nearly whited out when Phoenix's head hit his chest.

It was warm. The vibrations of the man crying echoed in his ribs, and he wrapped his arms around him in a full embrace.

Miles nestled his head down onto the flattened hat-hair atop Phoenix's head, concentrating completely on comforting the man whose heart was breaking in his arms.

Phoenix didn't say a thing about his woes. He just cried, and cried, and when he was done, he just stayed, breathing, in Miles's chest.

Miles left his hands where they were, rubbing small circles, on his shoulder and back.

Finally, Phoenix began to lift his head, and Miles got to see his face for the first time in several minutes. 

His eyes were puffy, his nose was red, but the thing that struck Miles instantly was the waves of pure want radiating out of the look in his eye. 

Phoenix rose to his eye level, and Miles didn't look away. Not even when Phoenix came closer,  and closer, and-

Their lips touched. Just briefly.

Miles leaned forward.

Their lips touched again.

And again.

And again.

And again, but Phoenix pressed forward, not letting the kiss break this time.

Miles inhaled sharply, and adjusted his body for a better angle.

Phoenix let out a contented hum, bringing his hands up to Miles face, only kissing deeper. 

This was crazy. This was crazy.

But it was the best feeling in the world.

Miles kept his hold on Phoenix and pulled him down, careful not to break their magnificent kiss, laying down on his back.

Phoenix took the hint in a stellar way, adjusting himself on top of Miles for the best angle, slotting his legs around and between Miles legs, only deepening the kiss.

They kissed for what felt like hours, soft sighs, shifting bodies, learning the other's mouth inside and out, until Phoenix pulled away.

Again he did not say a word.

Miles wished he would, but he understood. 

Instead, Phoenix just slid, sideways, just enough that his hip hit the mattress. Most of his body still pressed its weight into Miles.

Phoenix nestled his head under Miles’ chin.

And so it was up to Miles to tug the covers, cursing the whole way, kicking the thick blankets out from under them, and then dragging them up to cover them both, enveloping them in the warmth needed during these cold German nights.

Phoenix never let go of him. Miles wouldn't have wanted him to.

They adjusted themselves, downy duvet crinkling above them and creating a glowing bubble of warmth that they were fortunate enough to live in, just for tonight.

Phoenix squeezed him tight.

Miles dropped a kiss to his hair, then another. And another. And more, with regular, gentle frequency, until Phoenix was sound asleep.

Miles dropped off with his lips buzzing, breathing in the scent of the man in his arms, and not a thought about tomorrow.

Tomorrow Miles, however, couldn't sleep at all.

More now than he had been in many, many years, he was acutely aware of the lack that he lived with, every day. For one glorious night, the absence was filled, in the only way that he could ever want it to be. And now…

He touched his lips.  It had only been twenty four hours. Eighteen since he left. If he concentrated,  could he feel the remnants of the touch, of the glorious warmth? Could part of Phoenix still be with him?

If there was, it wasn't enough.

Miles turned over. He was not going to sleep tonight.