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“I know what I’m talking about! Geez, I’m not a little kid, Mr. Wright. I know what I’m doing.”
Apollo’s irritated, snippy voice rings out in Wright & Co.’s office lobby. The boy is sitting behind the counter-like desk. He clearly has a lot of work on his plate, if the files, both physical and digital on the lit desktop, prove anything. His annoyed comment comes from a place of frustration, not anger with his boss’s interjection. Usually, he’s more receptive to Phoenix’s advice, but he’s just trying to get done for the day this time.
Phoenix understands that. That doesn’t make it any easier to get snapped at, though. He’s already had a pretty rough day as it is.
It all started before he even made it into this office this morning. He spilled his coffee on himself while trying to open the office door. He tried to shrug it off, telling himself that he shouldn’t have been carrying so many things at once anyway. But then the little things just kept coming, adding up over the course of the day.
It took so much energy to force the words of advice out in the first place. After the day he’s had, Phoenix wants to just shut down, which often includes silence from losing the will to speak. He always forces himself through that part, though. He always musters up the energy to push the words out to make it easier on those around him.
So the attitude he got in response, to put it bluntly, pisses him off.
“Yeah, fine,” he manages out. “Lock up when you’re done here.”
The words come out quiet and strained. He’s nearing his wit’s end. Apollo just nods as he keeps typing on the desktop, not even paying Phoenix any mind.
The job can definitely be stressful and taxing. Phoenix knows that better than anyone, so he finds it hard to be truly upset with the boy over it. Consider it the straw that broke the camel’s back. The last tiny moment at the end of a series of bad things that adds up and makes someone snap. It’s not Apollo’s fault, not really, but he just happened to be snippy when Phoenix was already in a bad mood.
Phoenix steps out and quickly shuts the door behind him before he can say something he’d regret later. He’s spent years honing that kind of self-control. To be able to step away and not snap back at his loved ones.
Outside, he finds himself standing in the rain. He laughs bitterly. Of course, to wind down such a day, he’d have to bike home in the rain.
With a harsh kick to the bike stand, Phoenix settles on it and takes off, not having much of a choice. He gets a good number of sideways looks from others, but he can’t bring himself to care right now.
He bikes home in silence, not able to put his earbuds in due to the rain. When he veers into the driveway, he stops abruptly, his feet coming down to skid on the concrete. He forgot.
Miles isn’t home.
His God-given solace, the only thing that could have saved his day, is missing. Of course it is.
That’s what does Phoenix in. Any sliver of hope or restraint he had left vanishes in an instant. He throws his bike to the wall of their garage. It hits hard enough that he can hear a few things fall over behind him as he walks inside. He doesn’t turn around to check.
Inside, he tosses his keys and phone onto the counter, silently grateful that Trucy is having a sleepover with her aunts tonight. There’s nothing that makes him feel guiltier than the way his daughter gets quiet when she can tell that something is wrong. The way she watches from a distance to try and figure out how to help him.
That sentiment lasts for only a few moments. When he stops moving, he realizes just how quiet the house actually is. How alone he is. A pit of dread forms in his stomach at the thought of this lasting all night.
Eyes prickling with tears, Phoenix puts both hands on the counter, ducking his head down between them. There’s nothing he can do at this moment but start to cry. The teardrops fall freely and quickly, silently hitting against the countertop and his hands. He can feel his throat getting raw with each sob that comes out of it. Shaking his head, he uses the back of his sleeve to wipe at his face. God, what he would give to have his husband right now.
Something that he doesn’t seem to realize is that he doesn’t even consider calling anyone else. He has many people in his life now. Wonderful, caring people that would talk to him on the phone or come over. But he doesn’t want them when he’s in distress. He just wants Miles.
But Miles is away on an overnight trip. He won’t be back until around noon tomorrow.
So all Phoenix can do is cry.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
An hour and a half passes, and Phoenix finds himself sitting on the living room couch, staring at the floor. Outside of the window, almost teasingly, the sun has come out. Like the rain had come earlier just long enough to spite him.
He’s still in his suit, despite the way the rain soaked it and made it stick to his skin. His hair has halfway dried, leaving the usual tufts deflated and frizzy. He can't bring himself to care.
Sitting forward, his hands are clasped together between his knees. The floor is getting the staredown of a lifetime as thoughts come and go from the man’s head before he can register any of them. He’s just a big swirl of emotions and fleeting thoughts right now.
When he finally breaks out of his little trance, he looks around. Of course, nothing has changed even an inch. What he would give to have a mess to clean up after or dinner to make…
With the heaviest of sighs, he stands up. A slight wince crosses his face when he does, as his bones and muscles are starting to feel stiff. But he continues and makes his way into the kitchen, finding his phone. No texts. The one notification is from a stupid game he plays on better days. He frowns, glancing at the time.
Not enough time has passed for his liking.
He debates sending a text to Miles, a quick check in, but ultimately decides not to. His husband wouldn’t have minded in the slightest, but Phoenix just sets the phone face down.
There’s a long few moments where he stands there, staring at the back of his phone case. His mind is racing, quickly plummeting down a dark path. A path that he’s tried so hard to stay away from, yet inevitably finds himself on again and again. He’s told so many people that healing isn’t linear. He’s been the voice of reason and comfort to people in their darkest moments. But the shame he feels for his own dark moments can only be described as a crushing weight on both his heart and mind.
Will he really never get over this?
Him, a grown man, spiraling and wanting to relapse, and over what? Having a night alone? His protege getting snippy—not even yelling?
In a quick motion, Phoenix picks his phone back up, opening the local delivery app he has downloaded, ordering a large bottle of wine and a pint of vodka. He presses the order button before he can stop to reason with himself. Not that he’s in the state to, anyway.
His mind has clouded over, his rationality faded. It’s been a while since he’s been in such a state, but it feels all too familiar. Like he’s sitting outside on a freezing street corner again, with the only thing keeping him warm being the alcohol burning in his throat. Like he’s at rock bottom again.
A bit later, when the delivery driver's car pulls out of the driveway and heads off down the street, Phoenix unlocks the front door. He quickly grabs the paper bag, ignoring the guilt he already feels rising in his gut.
Inside, he pulls out the two bottles and puts them on the coffee table. A frown forms on his face as he stares at them. The vodka is not the brand he ordered. Whatever, really, he doesn't care that much anyway, as the taste has never mattered. But of course they didn't send the one he wanted.
He doesn't even sit down, instead just grabbing the bottle and popping the cap off, letting it fall to the floor. Tipping the glass pint back, he feels the almost-unbearable burn in his throat. He takes a large swig of it, coughing when he finally swallows. It burns, but is still somehow easier to swallow than the feelings of guilt.
He drops heavily onto the couch, staring at the blank TV as he nurses the bottle.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
When morning comes, it’s wet and cool outside. Miles thinks nothing of it as he checks out of the hotel, returning the keycard. He’s just ready to be home. He loves his job, but not always the tedious things it entails, especially now that he has a family that he’d rather be at home with.
Regardless, it’s out of the way now and he can head back. He’s in a pretty good mood as he drives, keeping a steady speed on the highway. One of those easy, content mornings where even the rain doesn’t spoil his mood.
The drive isn’t long. The conference was just far enough away to warrant it being an overnight trip. He makes it home after almost two hours.
It’s still a bit early in the day when he arrives, so when he comes through the door, he doesn’t yell out that he’s home. Phoenix is probably sleeping, savoring the feeling of having all the covers to himself. So Miles is quiet as he settles his briefcase and jacket by the door.
He takes his shoes off, his socks quiet on the floor as he pads past the bedroom and to the bathroom for a shower. Opening the door, he doesn’t think anything until he flips the light on.
The gasp that escapes him is startled and panicked. If he were anyone else, it might have been a scream. He feels his heart drop into his stomach as he sees his husband laying on the cold tile.
Miles only allows himself that one second of fear before he moves forward. He drops to his knees beside his fallen husband, his hands hovering over the body for a moment. The smell of blood and alcohol are swirled together.
Blood.
Miles immediately puts his hands on Phoenix’s chest and tugs him back a bit so he isn’t laying face down. So he can check him over better. There’s blood under Phoenix’s form, mostly dried but some still shiny. It’s all over the tile and the front of Phoenix’s clothes. Searching for the source, Miles quickly tugs up Phoenix’s shirt, checking the man’s stomach. A small, emotionally pained sound escapes him as he finds several wounds there. They’re all parallel. Intentional.
“Phoenix!” Miles yells, shaking the namesake by the shoulders a few times. “Come on, come on…”
After giving a few shakes to hopefully rouse the man, Miles reaches up and yanks down the towel hanging on the hook. He folds in half just once before putting it over Phoenix's stomach. He presses down a bit, knowing pressure is important. It's all mostly dried up from the unintentional pressure Phoenix had on it from the way he was laid. Miles isn't much of a religious man, but he can thank whoever is listening for that blessing. He uses the towel just in case, and maybe just to feel like he's able to do something.
Phoenix groans a bit at the feeling against his injuries. Miles jumps right on it.
“Phoenix? Can you hear me, love?”
The affectionate name slips out easier than usual. Miles feels a bit more desperate than usual, though.
After a long moment, there's finally a response.
“…Yeah.” Phoenix answers, his voice hoarse. He shifts with a huff, sitting up a bit.
“Be careful,” Miles interjects immediately. “You’re hurt.”
At those words, Phoenix goes quiet. He looks down at the towel, at Miles's hands on his stomach, at where they are. It comes flooding back to him. Well, some of it does. He can’t remember too much of last night. He remembers ordering the alcohol and then a hazy memory of a knife. All of it is fuzzy.
“It’s okay,” Miles whispers, staring at the expression on his husband's face. It's breaking his tough heart. “It’s okay. Just… take a second.”
But Phoenix can’t stop staring down at Miles's hands. He doesn't look away until one of those hands moves and cups under his chin, forcing him to look away. Miles gently makes him turn his head up and to the side. He keeps his hand there, so they stay like that for a few quiet moments.
In those seconds, Miles is trying to decide on the best course of action. Does he coax his husband to talk, or should they clean up first? It's an extremely delicate situation, one he was absolutely not prepared to come home to.
Finally, he takes a breath and speaks.
“How do you want to go about this?” he asks quietly, deliberately calm. Showing the practicality that Phoenix has always appreciated.
“I'll clean up. Don't worry about it, I'll—”
Miles shakes his head, sliding his hand to the back of Phoenix's neck, rubbing easily.
“Of course I'm going to worry about it, Phoenix,” he says firmly. “If you want to clean yourself alone, that's fine. But you don't have to clean the floor. I'm not letting you do all of this by yourself.”
There's a definite note of determination in Miles's voice. Back in the day, when he knew Phoenix was struggling but had refused help, Miles had left it alone. Left him alone. Miles has felt immense guilt about it ever since, like if he had insisted, maybe Phoenix wouldn’t have ended up disbarred or started relying on alcohol. He won't make the same mistake again. He knows that his husband is stubborn when it comes to receiving help, but Miles isn't going anywhere this time.
There’s only one person in the world more stubborn than Phoenix, and that's his husband.
So, after a moment of hesitation, Phoenix huffs and relents. He starts to sit up more, but hisses in pain. He didn't realize how deep he had been going with the knife when he was drunk. Now that it's worn off and left him hungover, he can feel it.
Miles shifts into action. He grabs the first aid kit from under her sink and coaxes Phoenix back a bit.
Phoenix leans on his elbows, giving his upper body a slight incline as Miles takes the towel off. The former watches silently as his husband preps.
“Okay?” Miles whispers simply, glancing up at Phoenix’s face before he does anything. When he gets a nod of consent, he starts to clean the dried blood off of Phoenix's stomach.
Phoenix lets his head dip back, his expression pulling into a tight wince. But he doesn’t cry, doesn’t groan, doesn’t complain. He did this to himself. Idly, somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers getting hit over the head with the fire extinguisher. He tries to recall that pain instead of focusing on the one currently ailing him. An odd tactic, but whatever gets him through the moment.
Miles finds himself being more careful than he can recall ever being as he wraps the wounds. He’s frowning to himself as he works. The thought of stitches does cross his mind, but he really hopes it won’t come to that. He’ll keep an eye on it.
“Lift up a bit for me,” he whispers as he wraps the bandages around Phoenix’s torso. When his husband complies, Miles is able to make quick work of it. He pulls the bandages around several times, making it secure but not too bulky or tight. The cuts are already dry anyway, so they just need to be kept clean.
“Done?” Phoenix asks when Miles pulls back.
“Done. You can move if you want.”
So Phoenix shifts to be sitting up as Miles packs away the supplies. His hand automatically goes to feel the bandages, tugging at the top.
“Leave it alone,” Miles huffs as he gently swats Phoenix’s hand away from it. “You probably won’t have to wear it for long. That’s if you’ll keep from messing with it.”
That gets a tiny smile from Phoenix, who nods, letting his hand fall to his lap.
A long moment of silence draws between them now that there’s nothing keeping their hands busy. The weight of it all threatens to rise. Phoenix looks away, shifting his gaze down, then to the side, then at Miles, then away again.
Miles sighs.
“We should get off of the floor,” he finally says.
He stands, extending both hands down to Phoenix. One grabs one of his husband’s hands, the other hovering near Phoenix’s back as he gets up. Phoenix can basically feel the worry radiating off of Miles and he hates it. He hates being the cause of it.
But he doesn’t say anything as they leave the bathroom. He just reaches up and hits the light switch.
Phoenix can feel the stiffness in his muscles. He must have spent nearly all night lying on the bathroom floor. Not that he remembers ever moving there.
They migrate to the kitchen, where Miles starts silently making two mugs of tea. His back is turned to Phoenix as he works. Phoenix hovers awkwardly before opting to sit down at the table. He’s silent as well, save for the bouncing of his leg.
The silence only gets to last for two-ish minutes before Phoenix speaks up.
“You’re angry,” he says abruptly, his voice a tinge louder than usual. Almost panicked.
Miles stays quiet for a few seconds before shaking his head. He puts a tea bag in each mug and finally turns around. He pads over to the table and sets a mug down in front of his husband.
“I’m not angry,” he says as he sits down. “I’m just... not sure how to react.”
“That might be worse.”
“I’m scared, Phoenix.”
The words are so blunt, so wrong on Miles’s tongue. The fearless prosecutor, though Phoenix knows better than that, admitting that he’s scared. Usually, even when it’s clear he is, he would never actually say it. That’s what makes Phoenix’s stomach churn.
Before he can find the words to respond, Miles continues.
“I left for one night and came home to... I thought you were dead when I saw you laying there.”
His voice is sharp with pain and fear. Again, he doesn’t give Phoenix time to interrupt.
“You could have been. What if you hadn’t rolled over? You would have bled out. I wouldn’t have been able to save you.”
“Miles—”
“You would have died!”
“Miles, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, okay? I wasn’t trying to... go that far.”
“How can you know that? You were wasted. Those aren’t simple cuts.”
The tears dripping down Phoenix’s face are hot and guilty. He knows Miles is right. That all of this is on him. Just because he couldn’t be strong enough, couldn’t muster up the willpower, to just go to bed instead of drinking.
That’s what he’s taking from Miles’s words, anyway.
Miles takes a deep, shaky breath. His eyes close for a few seconds as he tries to hold back tears of his own. He opens them, shaking his head as if to shake them away.
“Was it because I was gone for the night? Do I need to be worried about leaving you alone? After this and the spell a few weeks ago...”
“No, c’mon, that’s not fair. I don’t threaten you with, like, surveillance when you relapse.”
“I’m not threatening you,” Miles says sharply. “I have our daughter to think about. She can’t find you like that. Ever. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her from that.”
“Even if it means being a—”
Phoenix cuts himself off before the word comes out, but they both know exactly what he was about to say.
He was about to call his husband a hypocrite.
Miles tenses. There’s a faint resemblance to his younger, colder self as he does. The version of him that they’ve both worked so hard to soften, even if just around the edges. That old familiar look on his face because of his own husband’s words.
Phoenix’s eyes widen immediately.
Before he can start to profusely apologize, the front door opens, forcing him to fall silent. Neither of them even look over to check who’s coming in; they stare at each other silently. Their gazes only tear away when they hear a chipper voice. It feels out of place in the current situation—content and unaware.
“I’m here to return the precious cargo,” Maya quips as she comes into the kitchen, holding Trucy’s hand.
Trucy looks tired, having been allowed to stay up much later than usual last night, but happy. She always loves sleepovers with her aunts.
Miles takes a breath and looks over at her, putting on a small smile. He reaches out to his daughter, giving her a quick once-over as he presses a kiss to her temple. As he does, Phoenix and Maya share a quick look. With years of friendship under their belt, Maya can tell that something is up. She also knows they won’t bring it up in front of the girl, though.
“Did you have a good time?” Miles asks with forced easiness.
“Yeah! They let me watch an adult movie!”
Maya’s eyes widen and she laughs a bit. It’s clear that they had agreed to not tell the men that, but she honestly should have known better.
Miles shakes his head, sighing softly.
“Is that so?” he says quietly. Any other day, he would have had more to say about that. He’d be questioning and chastising Maya for it. But it’s clear he has a million other things on his mind right now.
“It wasn’t an adult adult movie, don’t worry. Nothing bad.”
Maya’s words hang in the air between them as Miles only offers a nod in response.
“You look awfully tired, hon. Why don’t you go lie down for a bit?” he suggests, rubbing her back.
Thankfully, Trucy doesn’t argue. She must be that tired. She nods, giving him a hug and then rounding the table to give Phoenix a hug. The wince that crosses his face goes unnoticed by her but is definitely noticed by Miles and Maya.
Trucy pads off down the hall, leaving her bag in the kitchen floor by Miles’s feet. He simply shifts it out of the way as he gets up. In the midst of an argument, even though it’s a small-scale one anyway, he can’t suppress the need to check on his husband after a wince like that.
When Phoenix looks like he’s about to protest, Miles quickly shuts it down.
“Be still,” Miles says simply. Quiet, but not so cold.
“Is everything okay?” Maya asks in a whisper, leaning against the counter.
If she was still younger, she’d be asking a million questions. Her worry is evident, but she’s not as jumpy and overbearing as she might have been described as before. Her energy isn’t gone, but is more subdued in serious moments like this.
“I’m fine,” Phoenix says immediately, clearly wanting to keep a bit of privacy and dignity. “Thanks for bringing Trucy home. We’re all good here.”
Maya gives a soft sigh but nods. She understands that some things are meant to stay between someone and their lover. Some issues don’t need a bunch of prying eyes, no matter how helpful they intend to be.
“Okay. I’ll head out, then. Call me if you need me,” she offers.
She sees herself out, worried but knowing the men can handle anything that comes their way. They always have.
“Are these too tight?” Miles asks quietly, looking at the bandages once they’re alone.
“No, they’re fine, Miles. I think I just turned the wrong way.”
“Mm. Well, tell me if they start hurting you.”
The air is a little tense between them, but Miles can’t bring himself to be truly angry about the almost-comment from before. Not after the scare they had this morning. He probably couldn’t bring himself to be angry with Phoenix over anything right now. Maybe he can be a hypocrite sometimes, anyway. Phoenix might have been right to think that. Miles has relapsed a few times in the past year, but Phoenix has never treated him like he can’t take care of himself. Perhaps it was wrong of Miles to say what he did.
"I didn’t mean to... belittle you before,” Miles says quietly, sitting back on his haunches in front of Phoenix’s chair.
Phoenix softens, knowing too well how hard it is for his husband to apologize or admit he was wrong. But Phoenix quickly shakes his head, grabbing Miles’s hand.
“I know. And I didn’t mean—”
“I know.”
With Miles’s quick interruption, Phoenix knows to let it go. If they dwell on and fight over it, it would only make things worse. And lord knows things are already unstable enough right now.
“Trucy’s napping. We should lie down for a while, too. While we can,” Miles whispers. He pats Phoenix’s knee as he stands up.
Phoenix is careful as he stands, keeping a hand pressed against his torso as if to keep himself together. Once he’s on his feet, and has no pain, he follows his husband down the hall and into their bedroom.
Once he sits down on the bed, Miles helps ease him into a lying position against the pillows.
“Come here. Let me... Let me hold you.”
Miles’s words are quiet, hardly even audible. He’s very gentle as he positions onto his side, wrapping a loose arm around the injured man, needing to be close right now. Phoenix leans his head down against Miles’s shoulder.
“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” Miles murmurs.
“I won’t,” Phoenix replies, a soft, tired expression on his face. “I won’t.”
The close proximity seems to work as a balm for both of their nerves, letting them quickly drift off. Rest comes easily and heavily to them. Phoenix’s head, spinning with a hangover and shame, heals as he finally gets some sleep.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
13:06
“Papa. Papa, wake up.”
Trucy’s insistent whispering and poking of Miles’s side stirs the man awake. He rolls over, rubbing his eyes.
“What’s wrong, hon?”
“It’s one o’ clock. Are you guys sick?”
“No, sweetheart. Just resting. I thought you were in bed?”
“I was until, like, an hour ago. I... I was getting worried.”
Miles shakes his head as he sits up, taking care to not jostle Phoenix, who hasn’t woken up yet. He rubs Trucy’s back out of habit as she sits on the edge of their mattress.
“You don’t need to worry about us,” he says quietly. “Just a slow day. Because someone had an eventful night, hm? Adult movies and all?”
Trucy giggles softly, her worries eased by Miles’s simple redirection. He’s been in this whole ‘fathering’ profession for long enough that he knows the tricks. He knows how to keep her calm without specifically lying to her.
After a bit more back and forth, Miles gets up with the girl. He makes sure Phoenix is okay, still sleeping, before following her out of the bedroom. They’re quiet in the kitchen as he makes her a simple lunch. In a rare occurrence, he lets her eat in front of the living room TV in her pajamas, setting her up before he pads back down the hall and into the master bedroom.
He sits down on the edge of the bed on Phoenix’s side. His hand comes up and very gently fixes the messy black hair. The action makes Phoenix stir awake. For a moment, he doesn’t remember his injury, so he shifts the way he’s laying. A hiss escapes him, his hand going to his side.
“Hey, easy,” Miles murmurs. “You’re okay. Just be still.”
“What time is it?”
“Just after one. You don’t have to get up, though. I can bring you something to eat.”
“Mm. I smell like alcohol.”
Miles gives a very small, sad smile.
“I wasn’t going to say anything. Do you want me to draw you a bath?”
With a heavy sigh, Phoenix nods. He sits up, rubbing his face. His movements are slower as he remembers the thick bandages restraining him.
“Let’s get you up, then,” Miles mutters. He stands and leans down, using both arms to coax his husband out of the bed.
It’s definitely a team effort to get Phoenix down the hall and into the tub. But that’s what they seem to do best—tag teaming life. The quiet settles between them once Phoenix is in, but it’s not tense this time. Miles sits in the floor beside the tub, holding his husband’s hand as the latter soaks in the water.
They’ve made it through everything up to this point, and they’ll get through this, too. Miles, in his own quiet way, is prepared to take care of his husband until the scars heal. He’ll do whatever he has to, in his own quiet, blunt sort of way. He’s a man of actions.
That’s what Phoenix loves most about him.