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Phoenix will admit that the first time he had expected it, he had gotten his hopes up. Looking back now, it’s easy to figure out that Miles Edgeworth is nothing but business oriented. Some may call it a “one track mind”, and others might be a little less kind and call it by it’s other name, “oblivious”.
But Phoenix is nicer than that, so he’ll give Miles the benefit of the doubt.
It wasn’t the first time he’d been to Europe with Miles, but it was by far the nicest of their trips. Usually these excursions to Europe meant taking day trips to courts and sitting in the gallery, taking notes on their jury system. Sometimes Miles accompanied him, but sometimes he simply dropped Phoenix off at the front steps like Phoenix was going to preschool or a babysitter for the day instead of studying foreign court systems like the adult he is.
But Miles always looked apologetic enough when they met up to talk about their day, so Phoenix didn’t mind much. Being with Miles was nice, even if it did feel a little too much like studying for the bar exam again.
But maybe, to Miles, nothing says romance like textbooks and notes about court procedures. Maybe this is his strategy to court Phoenix. (That was a good one. He makes a note to tell it to Maya later).
The point is, instead of dropping Phoenix off with a bagged lunch and a juice box and telling him he’ll be back to pick him up later, Miles had suggested that maybe they take the day off, and go explore the city instead.
It’s not like it wasn’t unusual for them to explore the city they’re in. This is Europe, after all, and Miles is never in one place for long. Usually they spent the first day wandering around, as Miles makes Phoenix try food he’s never heard of and can’t pronounce, and Phoenix tries to survive the jet lag.
This time, though, this was different. They spend the day together, they go out to dinner. It’s one of those fancy restaurants that Phoenix actually has to dress up for, which means shaving and losing the beanie. (The things he does for love…)
But he puts on formal wear that doesn’t make Miles tell him “Try again, Wright, this time without the flip flops.”
They’re sandals, Edgeworth.
But that’s besides the point.
Is it weird for them to still call each other by their last names even though they’ve been dating for so long? Phoenix is too used to the habit to really think about it, but maybe that’s the nudge that Miles needs.
But the air was sweet with flowers and red wine, as they’re seated on a balcony overlooking the city. Their waiter gives them bread that probably costs more than Phoenix’s entire life, and they look out onto the city as dusk falls, casting a rich, deep indigo onto the dark buildings and shining silver sidewalks.
The city is a warm glow of streetlights and the pleasant hum of cars rumbling. He can hear music from the restaurant wafting out to meet them, a relaxing backdrop as Phoenix sits in his unused formal wear, feeling a gentle gust of wind on his exposed neck.
Beneath them, the city is loud and bustling and crowded, but he feels so removed from it from up on this balcony. He is untouched by the chaos of city life, soaring above taxis and dirt and pollution, forgetting his fear of heights. He feels as if he’s in his own world, just him and the man he would do anything for.
It’s unfamiliar for him to feel this relaxed and at ease, so he tries to savor the lightness in his heart. A hopeless smiles slides onto his face when he looks across the table and finds Miles looking back at him with his own version of the expression.
The night is a pleasant mood indigo, the Eiffel Tower is tall and shining and bright, and Miles Edgeworth is the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen, tall and regal and handsome against the night sky as stars begin to appear beyond them.
Miles’ features are highlighted by the yellow glow of the candle on the table, catching his steely grey eyes and transforming them into something more gentle and kind. It’s not something he ever would have thought to see, but Phoenix looks across the table and thinks about the two of them, so natural and comfortable together. He’s once again hit with the feeling of how lucky he is to be here, to see all this.
Miles Edgeworth. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for him. Phoenix had known this, always known this, since they had met. There had been something connecting them, drawing them together, and Phoenix is more than happy to be here with him. He feels content, feels it reaching deep down into his bones.
With all the chaos of his disbarment and everything that came along with it, it’s not something he would have thought he’d ever feel again, so completely and steadfast. But looking at Miles now, thinking about their history and the bond of trust between them, Phoenix is glad that they’re together still after all these years.
This feeling of peace that sweeps through his chest at the thought is so foreign it was almost forgotten, but no, how could he ever forget what this feels like?
Dark eyes flicker down at their white table cloth. Nervous. Uncharacteristically, Phoenix thinks, as he waits patiently, as the nightlife of Paris blooms into motion beneath them.
“Phoenix,” Miles says, and Phoenix’s heart leaps in his chest at the use of his first name, “I know we’ve only been doing this for a short while, but I would be honored if…”
Phoenix tries not to feel dizzy with the rush of emotions. Is this really happening? He would have never pinned Miles to be the type. But look at this view, this scene, oh, it’s perfect, and Phoenix was always a huge romanticist at heart. Miles must have known this, and that’s why he picked today to propose marriage. He didn’t think that Miles was the type to get married, but Phoenix is so ready for this to happen, he could weep.
Miles clears his throat. “I would be honored if you would be with me when we brought the MASON system back to the states.”
Phoenix blinks at him, expression frozen as the words catch up to him.
But Miles keeps talking. “I can’t imagine anyone I’d rather do this with. The jurist system is the result of years of hard work and research, and it’s only right that you help me implement it.”
Phoenix is so lost right now. He’s more lost in this conversation than he would be if he were dropped in the middle of Paris without knowing a word of French.
Miles looks at him, seriously, as the candle light catches his glasses. “I know that without your badge, it’s hard for you to have any leverage in the legal world, but I think the world needs to know how much work you put into this. That’s why I think you should also have your name on it, instead of having me take all the credit.”
Phoenix continues to stare at him, more than a little dumbfounded by this turn of events. Finally, his brain catches up to him.
“I’m sorry,” Phoenix says calmly, still not really understanding what just happened. “Where is all this coming from?”
Miles leans back, but the tension is still tight in his shoulders. He frowns, “I wanted you to be relaxed,” he says, “I know you don’t like talking about your lack of a badge.”
Phoenix glances down at Paris, the city of love, beneath them, suddenly remembering how high up they are and how much he hates heights. He quickly tears his gaze away, trying not to think about it. “And you thought this was a good atmosphere for it?”
There’s a good chance that Miles just doesn’t know about the romantic atmosphere he was building. Maybe he just really likes expensive restaurants and balconies overlooking the most iconic view of the city.
Miles grins, covering it with his wine glass, “Well, I also wanted to go out to dinner with you. I did miss you since your last visit.”
Miles gestures to the Eiffel Tower, “I thought that perhaps you would like this sort of thing.”
But his gaze turns inquisitive when Phoenix still can’t think of anything to say. Miles scans him carefully, lips dipping into a thoughtful frown. Phoenix may be an undefeated poker player now, but even with that, Miles catches even the slightest change of expression.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asks, careful to keep his voice neutral when Phoenix still doesn’t say anything.
So Phoenix forces a smile, the biggest one in his arsenal, and it seems to calm Miles a little. He fights the urge to run his fingers along the rim of his wine glass, thinking about how he still can’t hide anything from Miles, they know each other too well for that.
“No,” Phoenix assures him, “it’s perfect, really.” Except that he and Miles aren’t exactly on the same page, and Phoenix had been expecting a different type of proposal.
Phoenix pushes those thoughts to the corner of his mind, refocusing on the jurist system. “Did you think I would say no? Of course we’re bringing the MASON system back home with us. That was always the plan.”
Miles shakes his head, and Phoenix’s eyes are drawn to it as he tries not to reminisce on how often he had seen the movement during their court days.
“The plan was that I bring it back myself, and no one would know all the work you put into it.” Miles points out, “You didn’t want to ruin it’s chances or credibility, “by putting your crooked name on it” I believe were the words you used.”
Oh, yeah. He remembers that conversation. It had been so long ago that he had successfully pushed it to the back of his mind and smothered it with poker techniques and a running list of magic props.
He had managed to forget about it, and would be fine with continuing to forget it, really. He hadn’t been thinking about it until this moment, but apparently Miles hadn’t forgotten.
Miles misreads his silence as self-loathing.
“Phoenix,” he says carefully, reciting the words he’s told him many times before, “What they say about you back home isn’t true at all. You know this, and so do I, and so does everyone else that matters.”
Phoenix sighs reflexively. He wishes they wouldn’t go down this route. He doesn’t particularly want to dig up those memories, he’s content with watching the city’s night life and trying the steaming appetizers that were just placed in front of them.
But try as he might, even the scent of whatever soup he had ordered (one that Miles had promised was good and Phoenix decided to trust him on) wasn’t enough to distract him from the memories that had been dug up.
It wasn’t a fight, really. They hardly ever fight, and that in and of itself is scarier than any yelling might be.
Oh no, they have to sit down and communicate with each other, talk their feelings like the adults they are, in a respectful and open environment and Phoenix sort of hates it, sometimes. But their last big misunderstanding had been “Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth chooses death” and that wasn’t exactly a route they had been too keen to go down again.
So that means that they have to talk about their perspectives and feelings when Phoenix would much rather go back to the easy method of ignoring everything until it caught up to him years down the road. Life was simpler when he could just shove everything under the rug and pretend that it wasn’t bothering him.
In fact, he quite liked that strategy, and had been using it ever since that one time Dahlia tried to kill him way back when. So what if Miles says it wasn’t a “healthy coping method,” it seemed to be working for him.
But Miles doesn’t agree. Which means that they’re expected to call each other when they have something to talk about, and confront their feelings head on, which is tiring and bothersome and annoying. But still, he does it for Miles, and for Trucy, and because he knows that it’s the right thing to do, even if it isn’t the easiest.
The conversation Miles is referring to, on this warm Paris night, had taken place just a few months after Phoenix’s disbarment, when he was still at the height of his bitterness. He had been careful to keep it from Trucy, but all that really meant was that Miles got the brunt of it instead.
Conversations like that lead to a lot of built up resentment being let out, and things he’s kept to himself and would prefer to continue keeping to himself now belong to Miles as well. Phoenix had apologized so many times for that, and so many times has Miles told him not to, that it was better than bottling it up or repressing it, and he’d rather Phoenix tell him how he’s really feeling than just try to pretend everything is fine.
He had been snarky and bitter and harsh, exhausted and lost and full of fear for the future. Miles had been patient and calm and quiet for it, so much that it would have been so easy to just direct a little of that hatred that Phoenix felt for himself towards Miles.
It would have been so easy, but Phoenix hadn’t let himself, and he is a little proud of himself for that. It’s no use blaming anyone but himself in this situation.
He had thought about what Miles had said, on the last few days they had seen each other before Miles faked his death, all those years ago. “I feel as if something inside me has died,” is what he had told Phoenix. That’s pretty close to what Phoenix had felt then, directionless and lost, with no real desire to see what the future hold.
Perhaps that is why he listens when Miles talks to him, knowing that Miles had felt everything he has, only amplified.
“You have always been who I thought you were.” Miles had said quietly, strong enough that the words had stuck in Phoenix’s mind for years afterwards.
It had during one of those times where Phoenix had tried to convince him that he’s always been a fraud, and imposter, and maybe this is just who he’s always been, and who he was as a lawyer was the real lie. How dare he ever try to convince himself he could ever be anything different?
But Miles is kind and patient and calm, even in the worst of times, and he had taken Phoenix’s worried hands in his, and told him again and again that he had worth and deserved to see what the future would hold, even if it is terrifyingly uncertain.
It had helped, and Phoenix had been doing better. So maybe there’s no future for him as a lawyer. That doesn’t mean he has nothing to look forward to.
But times like those had been few and far in between, especially after he adjusted to living without his badge, accepted how his life was now, and tried not to let it bother him. Once he had gotten himself out of his slump and started working on the Jurist system, gotten more involved in raising Trucy, he found that he simply didn’t have the time to feel sorry for himself anymore.
So he picked himself up and moved forward, because he had to.
But that had been years ago. He can still feel it, that heaviness, pressing on the edge of his mind, lingering like an afterthought, when he thinks about it.
But he does feel bad, ruminating on these thoughts even with all he has now. The MASON system was near complete, and soon he would catch Kristoph in the trap. It’s enough to keep him going. But beyond that, he has a beautiful daughter and Miles, by his side through it all.
So he shake these thoughts away and tries to stay in the moment, vaguely feeling bad that Miles had remembered what he had said back then, and was still thinking about it, even now. He doesn’t really want Miles to worry about him, so he smiles to push these thoughts away.
“That was a while ago,” he says, looking down at the white table cloth, “I didn’t mean it. Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” Miles answers easily, “You’ve already apologized, anyway. I didn’t bring you here to guilt you, I brought you here because I like this restaurant and I wanted to share this night with you.”
Miles offers him a genuine smile, and when Phoenix looks at him, all he can think about is the two of them together, and how far they’ve come. It replaces any budding heaviness in his chest, when he looks into Miles’ eyes.
So he smiles again, a genuine smile, and raises his glass. “To us,” he says simply, and the look of relief Miles gives him makes up for how Phoenix had thought this night would go.
“To us,” Miles agrees, bringing their glasses together, and in that brief moment of contact, Phoenix is again reminded that there’s nowhere he’d rather be than by Miles’ side, moving forward together.
Maya laughs into the phone when he tells her. “I think it’s sweet,” she says consolingly.
“I know ,” he says, “that’s the worst part. He’s just so thoughtful. And he’s told me that he doesn’t even like marriage, so why am I still hopeful?”
“Sorry, Nick. It if makes you feel better, maybe this is his version of a marriage proposal. Just think about it,” -her voice deepens to mimic Miles’- “Phoenix Wright, would you make me the happiest man alive and spend the next few years of our lives weeding out corruption in the high court system, undoing years worth of wrongdoing that has plagued our judicial world for decades?”
“Ooh Miles,” Phoenix says into the phone, sarcastically, “I thought you’d never ask. I’ll gladly spend the rest of my life with you and all this forged evidence and perjury.”
Maya breaks character, “That’s so romantic, Nick, I’m swooning.”
He laughs at their charade, “God,” he says, smiling, “I feel like I’m twenty again when I talk to you.”
“That’s a good thing, Nick,” Maya reminds him, “You aren’t getting any younger.”
He lets out an amused breath, rubbing the jet lag out of his eyes, changing the subject to talk about how Pearls and Trucy hold hands under the table and giggle about it when they think no one’s watching.
There are other moments, dotted throughout the years. The MASON system was near complete, but it wasn’t quite there yet, so they still had a few more trips to Europe before Miles officially moves back to Los Angeles to be the Chief Prosecutor there.
They’re in Italy this time, walking down narrow streets. Phoenix still isn’t allowed to wear a beanie and sweatpants, but he can’t quite get used to walking with shoes again.
They pass the place where Caesar was stabbed. Phoenix knows because Miles had pointed it out to him once before, but also because of how bizarre Phoenix had found it. The historical site is in the middle of the city, surrounded by modern buildings.
You could be on your way to work, and casually pass by this piece of history. Or maybe you could give directions: Two lefts and a right, past the pizza restaurant, past the market, past the overpriced tourist shop, but if you hit the place where Julius Caesar was assassinated about 2,000 years ago, you’ve gone too far.
But maybe you get used to seeing it. Maybe it just becomes part of life, like pasta and siestas and the ruins of an ancient civilization just outside your door.
With these thoughts, he doesn’t notice the fond way Miles is looking at him. When he glances over, Miles directs his attention away, studying the floor. There aren’t many people around, so Phoenix lets their hands touch for a few moments.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks, and Miles shifts his gaze to look at the tall brown buildings and the washed out blue skies above them, a small smile on his face.
He watches the way Miles eyes travel, just the two of them in a city of thousands, in a quiet moment, removed from the chaos.
“The many faults of the Initial Trial System,” Miles says simply, after a contemplative moment.
Phoenix tries not to let it show on his face as the moment is shattered and lost. Of course. Of course that’s what Miles is thinking, that’s completely in line with his character, how could Phoenix expect anything different?
Miles raises an eyebrow. Maybe he isn’t hiding this as well as he had thought.
“What...about the Initial Trial System…?” Phoenix casts out, slowly, forcing himself to be interested.
Miles’ eyes seem to light up. “I was thinking,” he says, a note of excitement in his voice, “What if defendants were innocent until proven guilty? What a concept!”
Phoenix feels his eyebrow twitching. “What a concept,” he echoes, and leaves it at that.
The third time doesn’t really count, but Phoenix likes to pretend it does, if only because it’s a fun story to tell.
They were back in Los Angeles, and Miles had settled into his office as the Chief Prosecutor. All this really means is that Phoenix is allowed to dress how he wants when they go out together. Other than that, nothing really changes.
They were in the grocery store, and Miles was feeling uncharacteristically chatty with their cashier. Phoenix doesn’t really understand it, but he lets them have their small talk as he bags groceries.
“-my partner and I.” Miles gestures to Phoenix, who looks up in confusion. The cashier follows his gestures, and her eyes land on Phoenix. She smiles as she passes a few more things through the scanner.
“Partners?” their cashier says, “How long have you two been together?”
Phoenix watches Miles carefully as a box of cereal bumps into his still hand. Partners? Is that what they’re calling it? What does this mean? This is the first time he’s heard Miles refer to him in that way. Maybe, in Miles’ mind, they already “tied the knot” and he hadn’t felt the need to make it official. Or even tell Phoenix that it happened at all.
But Miles blinks in confusion and then says, “Oh no, business partners. In law, I meant.”
Phoenix tries to avoid having a stroke in the middle of the grocery store.
Miles looks at him inquisitively as he drives home. “What’s on your mind?” he asks when they stop at a red light.
Phoenix feels the leather of the car seat on his back. He knows that they resolved to be honest with each other, so he takes the plunge.
“Not much,” he says, watching as people cross the street. “Have you ever put any thought into marriage?”
He can feel Miles’s surprise without looking at him, “Not really,” Miles says, after a moment, and Phoenix knows that he’s telling the truth, “You know that I was never really a fan of marriage. Why do you ask?”
Phoenix stretches, and tries his best to let it go. “No reason,” he lies, even though they promised to talk about things like this.
This is something he’ll just need to get over. Just because it isn’t official and expensive doesn’t make it any less real, right? It doesn’t devalue all the years they’ve spent together, all that they’ve gone through.
So Miles take his answer at face value, turning back to the road when the light turns green, and the moment is lost.
So Phoenix stops counting lost chances, stops expecting it to happen, and life continues on. The MASON System is successfully put in place, and he’s cleared to get his badge back, if he chose to do so. He still isn’t sure.
With all of the chaos that the jurist system brings and the aftermath of that trial, they’re both too busy to really think about the two of them. Miles stays late at the office a lot, doing his best to weed out corruption from within the ranks, and Phoenix actually starts shaving again and retires his beanie to a honorable place on the shelf in the Agency.
A few months later, he gets reinstated, and the Agency gets a new member in its ranks. Less than a year later, life finally starts to calm down after the retrial of UR-1, after Simon and Athena are cleared, as Apollo learns to cope with his loss.
Life had been hectic for a while. It’s been a long time since he’s been to Europe, or since he’s had thoughts of marriage on his mind. He has other things to think about now, so many other thoughts crowding his head instead.
But still, quiet moments like these are rare and hard to find. Miles had found a lull in the paperwork, and had gotten home early that day. Phoenix hadn’t thought much of it, only that it’s good he gets to eat real food for dinner instead of microwave lasagna again. Miles says that he doesn’t know how Phoenix can eat that after actually going to Italy and eating real Italian food, but Phoenix doesn’t mind the difference.
But Miles is the only one who knows how to cook, between the three of them, so Phoenix simply follows his directions.
He doesn’t really know what he’s making, currently, only that it involves cutting up vegetables and fills his kitchen with a rich, full aroma. It fogs up his windows and catches onto his clothes, but Miles doesn’t seem to mind as he pulls out spices from where they’ve been gathering dust in the cabinet.
He can hear Trucy on the phone with her girlfriend through the walls, the steady, indistinct sound of her voice falling into rhythm with himself chopping up vegetables.
It’s been a long time since they’ve had a quiet moment like this, all together as a family. The winter is harsh and cold outside, but the frost can’t reach them here, in the warmth of the kitchen. It’s something Phoenix had always wanted, Miles by his side, the sound of Trucy’s laughter reaching him. He’s always had this, with or without his badge, and he’s glad that he can finally relax and enjoy it.
He’s so caught up in this moment of bliss, this unrelenting peace that fills him when he thinks about all he has, that he’s unprepared for the moment when it comes.
Phoenix finds himself engulfed in the steady rock of his knife against the cutting board, the sharp scent of garlic in the pan against crackling oil, that he isn’t really paying attention and almost doesn’t hear it when Miles says: “We should get married.”
But it must register somewhere in his brain, because something short circuits instinctively in response. Miles’s words don’t seem to reach him until a full moment has passed. He blinks, opening his mouth to say something to that but what comes out instead is: “Ow, fuck.”
Miles blinks at him, dumbfounded and maybe a little offended, “Excuse me?” he says, eyebrows coming together in confusion.
Phoenix can feel warmth and pain spreading through his hand, but he ignores it. He’s been waiting so long for this moment, he isn’t going to let a small cut get in his way. He takes a deep breath and grits his teeth.
“No, no keep going,” he encourages through the stinging in his hand, “I think I cut my hand.”
Miles' eyes dart over to the cutting board in worry, “Let me see.”
“No it's fine, really, I swear.” He tries to hide it from view, glancing down to make sure. Okay, on second thought, maybe that is a little too much blood.
Miles seems to be thinking similar thoughts. “Its bleeding quite a lot,” he notices.
But Phoenix has been waiting so long for this moment, and he’s going to fight to keep it. So he swallows the pain and says, “No, don’t worry about it.”
But Miles isn’t fooled. He can probably hear it in Phoenix’s voice, if not for the growing mess on the counter. He steps over in two quick strides, with all the authority the Chief Prosecutor should possess, taking Phoenix’s hand forcefully to assess the damage.
“I think we should worry,” Miles says, after a moment “This may need stitches.”
“Are you kidding me.”
“I’m afraid not. Here, put pressure on it.” Miles presses a towel into Phoenix’s bloody hands as he sticks his head into the other room.
“Trucy,” he calls, “your father cut his hand so we’re going to get stitches.”
Phoenix decides that he would be okay with bleeding out in his kitchen if only so this embarrassment would all be over sooner. He can’t even hold his head in his hands, like he so dearly wants to.
Trucy enters the room as Miles goes for his keys. When she sees the scene, she laughs, holding her hand up to muffle the sound. Miles comes back into the room with a sour look on his face, pulling on his coat.
“What happened?” Trucy asks him, sounding shocked, “I thought you were going to propose!”
Miles lets out a long sigh, a strange look on his face, “Yes, well…” he trails off, glancing over as she tugs on her jacket. “Are you coming with us?”
Trucy nods, pulling her phone out as she follows them out the door.
Daddy almost cut his thumb off bc his bf proposed to him and now we’re on our way to the er
Athena: oh my god
Apollo: wow congratulations
Apollo: on the wedding not the stitches
The ride is quiet, except for the sound of Trucy giggling in the back seat. If his hands weren’t full of blood, he’d ruffle her hair and make a joke about this. But as it stands, his hands are covered in blood, and Miles glares at him when he takes the pressure off, so there’s no fun allowed, it seems.
Eventually, Miles breaks the silence. “Well, this isn’t going exactly how I had envisioned it in my head.”
Phoenix’s lips quirk into a secretive smile and he laughs quietly. “Funny, this isn’t what I had in mind either.”
Miles glances over, honestly confused. “What did you expect?”
Phoenix is still smiling as he answers, “I don’t know, it could have been any of the moments over the past seven years.”
He watches as Miles’ eyebrows furrow in confusion as the information seeps in. He watches as he turns back to the road, thinking, and he watches as his eyes go wide in realization.
“Those trips to Europe?” he asks, eyes flickering up as they slow down, coming to a stop moments before the light turns from yellow to red. “Those were for the jurist system.”
Phoenix wants to put his face in his hands and let out a muffled scream, but his hands occupied, so he can’t do that. “We were in Paris, Miles. The Eiffel Tower was right there. It’s the city of love.”
Miles seems to mull this information over in his head for a few moments, tilting his head as he processes this information. Eventually, it seems to sink in, and he does have the good sense to look embarrassed.
“Oh, he says simply, as his lips still quirk into an amused smile. “Oops.”
Oops. Yeah, right.
Phoenix sighs, smiling along with him when their eyes meet. Miles shakes his head good-naturedly as they pull into the parking lot.
“I thought you didn’t agree with the concept of marriage?” Phoenix asks as Miles parks.
“I don’t,” Miles says, taking the keys out of ignition.
He looks at Phoenix, suddenly serious, and Trucy quiets in the back seat.
“But I do want to be with you. And if that’s what you want, then let’s do it.” Miles shrugs, “Tax benefits.”
Tax benefits. Phoenix tries not to deflate too obviously as Trucy starts laughing again, somewhere behind him.
Phoenix wakes up early the next day. He frowns into the warmth of his pillow, still trying to cling to the last ebbing moments of sleep. The room is dark still, but he can see the first rays of early morning sunlight through his blinds, casting just enough illumination to catch on the clutter in the room and remind him that he really needs to do laundry soon.
He feels loose strands of hair in his face as he breathes deep, watching as the sun rises over the city. He usually sleeps through this, but it’s nice to wake up with the sun, sometimes.
He can hear Miles breathing next to him, and when he glances over, their eyes meet. Phoenix turns over to face him, still feeling the cocoon of warmth thanks to their combined body heat. They stay like that, watching each other, enjoying the warmth and the sunrise.
Phoenix feels himself curled around Miles, feels the way their feet tangle into the sheets, bumping up against each other. Phoenix feels a soft smile growing on his face at the contact.
He watches Miles face in the grey morning light as the morning sun chases shadows from the room. It’s just the two of them in this quiet moment, as the city slowly wakes up, so far removed from them.
He rests his head against Miles’s shoulder, feeling the vibration when Miles hums as a tired greeting.
“What time is it?” Phoenix asks in a hush, closing his eyes against the rise and fall of Miles chest as he takes rhythmic, even breaths.
“Around 6:30, I suppose,” Miles murmurs, tired, but awake. Phoenix can feel him bring his arm around to hold Phoenix to him. Phoenix can feel his heartbeat, and he focuses on it and the comfort it brings him.
They stay like that, pleasantly warm, breathing together in this early morning. Phoenix imagines the sky outside is a dusty blue, dyed pink around the edge, splashes of orange clouds spread evenly as the sun rises between them. The ground is probably stiff with the cold. He imagines car windows as canvases for frost as tired morning dwellers stumble out of their apartments and wait for the heat to kick in.
Phoenix doesn’t have to go anywhere today. He has nowhere else he needs to be. All he ever wanted is here in this room, or sleeping a few doors away. He has no plans, no emergencies, no worried weighing him down. All he has is Miles Edgeworth, sleepy and constant and perfect, here next to him.
He finds Miles looking at him when he blinks his eyes open, and he smiles when their eyes meet. Miles mirrors the expression, and his eyes are clear of any worry or sorrow or doubt. They stay in this moment, talking about everything and nothing with voices heavy with sleep, letting the conversation carry them wherever it may.
“Phoenix,” Miles says, somewhere above him, as the morning light finds its way to them. “You’ve been my best friend, my partner, my trusted confidant. I don’t need to tell you all that we’ve done for each other over the years. Having you by my side my life’s greatest gift, and I’m glad to be here with you.”
Phoenix reaches up to take his hand, squeezing it gently, “I know,” he says, listening to Miles’ heartbeat, “I’m glad you’re here with me. I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else but you.”
He hears Miles let out a happy sigh, pressing a kiss into Phoenix’s hair. Phoenix lets himself smile, bright and at ease. He feels how heavy his body is, how warm and comfortable he feels, and he knows he could easily fall back asleep.
He doesn’t. “It was never really something we had to say,” Phoenix says, letting his eyes drift close, “It’s something I’ve always known. It was always going to be you.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
Phoenix smiles at that, knowing that Miles is really saying so much more with those few words, and he twists around to kiss him, sweetly, as the sun rises above them.
They hear Trucy’s feet sticking to the floor in the kitchen when they decide to get up. Phoenix doesn’t let Miles leave the room without kissing him again, and the smile he gets in return makes up for the reminder that they need to brush their teeth.
Over waffles, Miles slides a plain, golden band onto his finger. Phoenix face hurts from the force of his smile, and Miles spares him a fond glance. To anyone that didn’t know him, they would miss the smile on his face, or misread it, but Phoenix knows the amount of joy contained in even the smallest of grins, the faintest of glances.
So they don’t need a big ceremony, or an expensive party to declare something they’ve always known. It doesn’t need to be big or flashy or obvious. It settles into their life as if it had always been there.
It’s a secret for less than a day, because Apollo hadn’t known that they wanted to keep it quiet, and made the mistake of telling Klavier, which means that the entire prosecutor’s office had known about it by the time Miles went back to work on Monday. Which meant that he was fending off congratulations and well wishes all week as he tries his best to work.
But nothing can touch this simple joy shared between them. Inscribed on the inside of Phoenix’s ring are two short lines, from a poem Miles had read once. He doesn’t discover it until later, and Miles admits to being a fan of Pablo Neruda.
It reads:
“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride.”
And on Miles’ ring, the next line:
“I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this.”