servesyouwright | Inbox

The armchairs. Miles headed in that direction, but he didn't quite land. Staying on his feet seemed necessary. He paced. Not for the entire length of the room, but a few steps at a time as he built up his questions, his statements - showing the kind of nerves he never did in court. But then, this felt so much more important.

"I... need to ask, then. Phoenix. How... How much would undoing your regret change? Of everything. Of you. Of me. Of..." He gestured to Phoenix, then, head to toe. "Of who you've become."

It doesn't take a genius to guess what Miles would like more than anything to change. It's doubtful that even the Miles Phoenix knows back home wouldn't like to change it, no matter how much he may be at peace with his place in life. At least, Phoenix thinks - hopes - that he's mostly at peace now. He seems to be.

Really, who could blame him?

"I think mine's pretty selfish, actually. I could undo something that would probably make someone I love very happy, but ... then I'd lose her. So what I have in mind ... I don't think it would change much."

Two words stuck out to him. One, he understood. One, he didn't. His thoughts whirled, coming together in ways that told him more about himself than he'd ever wanted to know. He sounded at least a little hollow when he said, "Mine would change everything. Likely including you. But... as it stands, you seem happy."

And no matter what it meant to him, would it be fair to change the entire world for everyone?

Damn it all, why had he come to Phoenix about this? Especially if he'd thought advice would be objective? He really was the fool Franziska would call him. Miles paced, arms folded over his chest, eyes not leaving the floor.

Did it matter, whispered an old, insidious voice with a timbre far too familiar, if it was fair? When had the world been fair to him? Why was he concerned with being fair to the world? He had an opportunity to take everything back, to make it right, to be the man his father could be proud of instead of... this. But the fact that he thought it at all showed just how wrong he was. He was a selfish, foolish, greedy man. Letting go was the right thing to do. Damn it.

"My apologies, Wright," he said, suddenly aware of his own silence and walling off all of his indecision firmly. "I shouldn't have disturbed you."

And right now he supposes he can honestly say he is happy. That's not something he's been able to say often, and at least part of that is the very incident that Miles wants to undo. What might have happened to them if Gregory Edgeworth hadn't been murdered is something that's occupied his mind ever since Miles showed up here, and all he can say for certain is that he has no damn clue where he'd end up.

Maybe he would have finished his art studies. Maybe he'd be a working artist, or maybe he would've kept his academic career going and become a professor or doctor. Maybe he'd become an art teacher to inspire kids like his had inspired him. Maybe he would've gone on to study something else entirely.

Maybe he would've never met Mia or Maya. Franziska wouldn't have Miles. Manfred von Karma ... might have just been outed for the bastard he is by Gregory at the end of the day.

But, really, what's most important is that they can't know. It's impossible.

"Miles," he says, gentle but firm, and hesitates for the slightest moment before he walks over and reaches out to place a hand on Miles's shoulder. "When we were little, when you disappeared, all I wanted was for you to come back. Every call and letter that went unanswered was torture. To me, you ... Thinking back on it, it's a little ridiculous, because we didn't really know each other very long, but you were the most important person in my life. And knowing that what I felt couldn't be anywhere near what you felt? If I could undo that ... I would. Even now. You deserved so much better."

And he smiles, itching to do more, like cup Miles's cheek or brush his hair back or-- Something ridiculous like that. He won't. But it feels like it would be right.

"And I would have rather had you in my life all those years than not."

Could he undo it? Can you change it? Somehow, he'd assumed he couldn't because he wasn't exactly involved, but when he thinks about it now, well ... Wasn't he involved by virtue of his and Miles's friendship?

He jumped when Phoenix touched him. Not a full-on leap, no, nothing like that, but something more than just a twitch or a start. No one touched Miles Edgeworth. They looked at him with fear, hatred, or respect. They may, very occasionally, shake his hand. Anything more than that, however, was halted by a gaze best described as icy or a manner best described as aloof.

When had that ever stopped Phoenix?

Phoenix had seen through him since that very first day. He'd defended Phoenix as a matter of course - because it was the right thing to do. Phoenix, though, had seen through him like glass. Past all his misplaced dignity, past the stubborn standards he wanted to be seen upholding. He'd seen a child who wanted to watch childish TV shows but kept himself to sensible things like the news instead. A boy who wanted friends that treated him like one of them instead of the perfect student and scholar he'd framed himself as. There was a reason the keychain of Signal Red still hung on his briefcase. Phoenix was that reason.

The more he said, somehow smiling as he said it, the more Miles found it difficult to breathe. Not long ago, he'd let himself be stabbed. He'd considered truly seeking death, not even thinking about the greater affect it would have on so much. And now, even with everything it was possible Phoenix would lose, Phoenix said this?

Miles wasn't sure if tears were standing in his eyes as he watched Phoenix's face, met his eyes, as he listened to every word. He did know his hand was shaking as he reached up and took hold of a fold of Phoenix's shirt, holding it tight. Logic told him a great many things. Whoever 'she' was, whyever that bothered him, Phoenix had just given him permission to wish that away. If Phoenix told him he deserved more, maybe he could stop painting that voice in his mind that said the same with Manfred von Karma's insidious tones.

His hand still shook when he let go of Phoenix's shirt to reach around him instead, to wrap his arm tightly around Phoenix, his other hand much more steady as it lifted to settle at the back of Phoenix's neck. His eyes closed and he clung, as if for his own life, to the person who had been steadfast even when he had every chance to turn away. His face was buried in the curve of Phoenix's neck and... and he thought he might have let a few tears loose. He didn't care. He didn't care because it finally came through to him that someone actually cared about him.

It wouldn't have surprised him if Miles's reaction to his words were to insist he's disturbed Phoenix and that he needs to leave. It would have saddened him, but he would've accepted it, at least for the moment. More than anything, though, before they leave, he wants Miles to know that he's free to make whatever choice he wishes to make. Phoenix will support either one.

The hand curling in his shirt is surprising enough to begin with, and for Miles to follow it up with a tight hug, practically hanging off of him-- His chest feels both warm and tight all at once with some mixture of emotions that makes it hard to breathe. Mostly, though, he thinks he's relieved. Relieved that maybe, probably, Miles actually believes him.

He wraps his arms around Miles in turn, leaning his cheek against Miles's head as he lets his eyes fall shut. Although he doesn't say anything in words, his arms squeeze slightly to get a message across anyway. I've got you.

Phoenix felt warm. Solid. Strong, really, beneath his shirt. The tightening of his arms made warmth seep through him like sitting by the fireplace on a winter evening. It was a comfort he'd not felt in far too long.

His hand flattened against Phoenix's back, his breath catching as his palm settled there on Phoenix's shoulderblade. It was the last bit of tension in him before he relaxed in Phoenix's arms, taking the offered solace.

One thing, though... One thing, he wondered, and he had to ask, even if it was quietly: "Phoenix... What is our relationship? In the intervening years, what's changed?"

Feeling Miles relax in his arms brings a wide smile to his face, and he eases his grip to just ... enjoy it quietly for a second.

How does he best sum it up? The easy answer is, of course, that Miles is his best friend. Sometimes he wonders - especially after living together as a married couple - he's been thinking maybe it's more than that. There's no doubt in his mind that he loves Miles more than he can properly express, but, well ... What exactly does that mean? That's another question.

"You've helped me through some of my most difficult trials." He huffs a laugh. "Both literal and figurative trials. I'm pretty sure I'd be much worse off without you. You're ... everything to me."

He'd gotten used to this. Waking up in Phoenix's arms even if he'd never brought himself to fall asleep there. The unspoken comfort of long moments he'd spent unmoving because he didn't want to disturb those pre-dawn minutes before he had to get up to go to work. He'd had a task given by the keepers here and he'd failed at it utterly because it had been so easy to fall into a routine with Phoenix.

Had it always been like this? Had he just been denying and ignoring it through that same misplaced dignity? The determination to keep the world at arm's length?

It seemed to matter less here. This place out of time and out of reality. This place that was offering for so much to be undone, and if it was undone - what did it matter what happened here? He'd have to work to make it happen, have to put forth all the more effort in the next mission, but, for the change he was hoping to bring about...

His hand curled against Phoenix's back, crinkling the fabric into his fist as he leaned back enough to catch Phoenix's eyes as he practically heard Franziska's voice once more calling him a fool. His hand slid up from Phoenix's neck to his cheek. "Then I'm an idiot," he said, voice quiet and low, "if I've not told you I love you."

And, knowing that if he didn't do it now, he never would, Miles closed the distance between him and kissed Phoenix, lips so softly pressed to lips. He didn't think he was wrong. If he was, he'd deal with the consequences when they came. But here, now - now that he knew the truth - he could say it.

For all that him and Miles are closer than ever back home, they don't usually do this. Hug, touch, stare into each other's eyes. Say 'I love you'. It's not necessary, though that doesn't mean it's not nice. It's actually sort of ... making his head spin.

And they definitely don't kiss.

Which doesn't mean-- Not that he hasn't wanted to. He's wanted to probably far longer than he's been willing to admit it. And he does not expect Miles to be the one to make the first move.

It feels like it's taking forever; The moment Miles leans starts leaning in, then the moment Phoenix realises why, then how long it actually takes for those lips to land. He feels like he can't really breathe while it happens, and he ends up taking a far too sharp breath right when their lips touch, and he leans into it with a clumsiness he might have cursed himself for if he wasn't too busy thinking about the fact that Miles just kissed him.

Doubt might've had him uncertain about just how Phoenix would react to that kiss - but Miles couldn't mistake the gasp or how Phoenix leaned in for anything but approval and that was an immeasurable relief. He really had gotten it right - even if they were now both being a bit awkward. After all, there was no such thing as a picture-perfect first kiss. And between people like the two of them, who had fumbled so much prior to this? If anything, he was learning firsthand why so many of the pictures of his parents together had them laughing. This was how it was supposed to be.

Miles followed that first kiss with another - shorter, lighter, ending with a smile as he took a moment to catch his breath. He'd been right. It wasn't even a matter of triumph so much as it was a relief. Phoenix wanted this, too.

He absently ran his tongue over his lower lip and then he was the one taking in a breath just a little too quickly. Oh.

A laugh escapes him unbidden, though he wouldn't have dreamed of silencing it, and he moves his hands to cup both of Miles's cheeks. His grin is so wide his cheeks might start hurting.

"I love you too."

Miles could feel his cheeks warm with his blush as, suddenly, he was too shy to meet Phoenix's eyes for all he kept his smile. "I--... I don't know what I expected," he said. "I was sure you felt the same so I have no idea why I'm blushing now..."

No, he had an idea. It was because he now knew what Phoenix's lips tasted of against his. He'd already known the warmth of being in his arms but, with no more than that, he had practically leapt over the line neither of them had neared enough to cross with only faith telling him that Phoenix would catch him on the other side.

"Well, you're not alone."

It has been a long time since he kissed anyone. There's not been anyone since Iris, for a number of different reasons that he'd rather not think about. Not when he can think about the fact that Miles kissed him and it felt so right.

He absentmindedly rubs his thumbs over Miles's cheekbones, and leans in to rub their noses together.

"Now I feel silly for not taking this step all these years."

Oh, right - they were separated in age, here, by quite a bit. Yet... Yet it still felt natural, being with him.

Miles met the brush of Phoenix's nose, his smile still both present and shy as he said, "Knowing me, I doubt I gave you the chance." And it was just a continuation, resting their foreheads together. It fit just right. A breath, a sigh, and he admitted, "I've missed waking up with you, though." Because if he could be brave enough to kiss Phoenix, he could be brave enough to tell him that, too.

Knowing him? Honestly, Phoenix isn't sure how exactly you give someone the chance to kiss you. With all the time they've spent together, he's sure he's had plenty of opportunity to just take a chance, if he'd thought of it, or if he'd dared. Truth be told, he's not completely sure what's been holding him back.

Maybe it just took playing house for them both to really figure it out.

"Good thing we can remedy that."

There's no reason to hesitate. And no reason to wait. They've just spent a month living together, so why not keep going?

"Really?" Truly - was it that easy? Just like that, he was going to get to--

He consciously stopped his own questioning. It was the definition of looking a gift horse in the mouth. Just like that. Just like that, he and Phoenix were going to be...

His arm tightened around Phoenix's back and his hand slid further, fingers parting their way into his hair to take advantage of their closeness. Now that he had the option, he was kissing Phoenix again. And likely a few more times before he'd decide he was finished.

The surprise is surprising to Phoenix because-- Obviously. Obviously, they can remedy that. And why wouldn't they? He laughs as Miles leans in, and the sound gets partly muffled into the kiss. And he follows Miles's example, burying both hands in his hair with a happy noise in the back of his throat.

Move in with Phoenix. A logical following to kissing him, really. Just... not one he'd expected. Not really. Especially not as an outcome of the talk he'd intended they have. But he couldn't recall ever wanting to kiss anyone the way he wanted to kiss Phoenix, including having ideas of ending up horizontal. It brought him to smile against Phoenix's lips, catching his breath, and though the thought of transferring his belongings was there, well, one word could encompass his thoughts on that:

"Later."

He was going to chase this happiness first, for as long as he could.

"Okay," he says with laughter in his voice, and leans in again as he moves his arms to wrap around Miles's shoulders.

They can just kiss for a while then. He's more than happy to do that.

Inbox - Ximilia

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